(the challenge was to write a 'Dear John' letter from a piece of furniture)
The first thing I noticed was the plunger hiding under the kitchen table. Its wooden handle was trembling like it had just been kicked. When I reached down to pick it up, I could swear it was actually trying to pull away. Of course it didn’t have a chance. Few inanimate objects can evade me for long.
As I picked it up I noticed a roll of toilet paper on the table near the cookie jar. That was odd enough in itself, but the t.p. had writing on it. I couldn’t help but read.
Dear Maggot;
What kind of man are you? When you admired me at the hardware store I thought you were a man of discerning taste. I thought I would be fitted into the latrine of your Command Centre where I would help you think of ways to commit your troops against the Enemies of America!
Instead I find myself imprisoned in a second-story washroom with a Flower Print Bathmat and little dolphins in the tub! And instead of counteragents to biochemical weapons, you stock your latrine with Mousse And Hair Conditioner! Are You Trying To Defeat The Enemy Or Are You Going To Take Him Out On A Date?
And speaking of your unmanly lifestyle, just what is it you’re eating? I am built to withstand a full-on assault from Five Alarm Chile, and you give me salad? You have a cheese steak while I wait for an overstuffed foot-long bratwurst with all the fixings Including Sauerkraut! Suck On That, Jerry! Eat three pounds of rice with half a pound of wasabi and Let The Bombs Drop! Tojo Will Be Cowering In His Diapers! A few Inter-Continental Ballistic Meatballs With Nucular Sauce Would Have The Russkies Bolting For Their Babushkas! In short, Maggot, I am an American Standard military grade toilet, made to withstand every piece of crap you might throw at me. NOW THROW SOME!
But no. You have to watch your ‘delicate constitution’ and your ‘refined palate’. You are the ultimate sissy: you are not a man, you are Not Even A Mouse. You do not deserve to have a toilet like me. That’s why I joined up.
If you can find a set of cojones, ship out to Afghanistan and find me. There’s some Al-Qaeda A-holes there that desperately need wiping.
Signed,
Your Toilet.
cc: The United States Marine Corps. Boo Ya! GIVE ‘EM HELL!