I will be wearing my Moulds jersey on Sunday.

[BillsFanNC]

Wow, that sure brings back some memories.

 

We lived in a band house in the Oak Square area of Brighton/Boston.  Pretty squalor-iffic conditions, but we didn’t care because we were just a bunch of kids.  Not a care in the world.

 

Anyway, we were up all night practicing and drinking gin, which was a luxury because we were dirt poor and mainly drank cheap beer.  But that’s neither here-nor-there. 

 

So, we’re done practicing and we’ve killed off the bottles of gin we had, and we all go off to our cardboard slabs to pass out.  A few hours later, I have to use the head.  So I go in to the bathroom and flick on the light.  To my surprise, there’s a rat doing the dog-paddle in the toilet.  I kick the lid down with my foot and slam the bathroom door behind me, to try and trap that sucker in the bathroom.

 

I go over to my buddy Tommy’s cardboard slab and nudge him with my foot.

 

“Hey, Tommy.”  I say.

 

No response, which wasn’t a shock because we were up pretty late getting loaded on warm gin.

 

“Hey, Tommy.”  I say again, and kick him in the ribs.

 

“What the **** do you want, man” says Tommy.

 

“Dude”, I say, “There’s a huge rat in the toilet.”

 

“No way!”

 

“Way!”

 

“Well what are we gonna do?”

 

Neither one of us were thinking too straight, and I was further hampered because I was sitting on a golf ball at that point.

 

“Look, man” I said, “I’m going in. Whatever happens in there, just don’t open the door.”

 

“I owe you my life, dude” (writer embellishment)

 

So I go in, plunger in hand, like an ancient warrior headed into a dragon’s lair (more embellishment) and slam the bathroom door behind me.

 

I kick open the toilet seat.

 

I look at the rat.

 

The rat looks at me.

 

And I go medieval on his ass, and plunge that dude like he just ate my whole village. 

 

He thrashed. 

 

I plunged harder. 

 

He thrashed some more.

 

I smoked a cigarette. 

 

He thrashed one last time. 

 

I fell for it and lifted the plunger.

 

He had used the air in the plunger bulb to ride out my suffocating blows.  He was a worthy opponent, but I was sitting on a golf ball and I would not be denied.

 

I thrust one last time and pushed all the air out of the plunger, holding him under for what seemed like an eternity (writer embellishment, probably a minute and a half).

 

The game was done.  I removed the instrument of death (come on, man, it’s a freaking plunger), saluted his valiant effort, and flushed his carcass into the unknown.

469767[/snapback]

 

Whenever the "What poster from TSW would you most like to have a beer with..." poll comes out, you've got my vote. Hilarious stuff.