The Terrifying Toilet Tackle,
or “One dog's meat is another dog's poison?”
The Terrifying Toilet Tackle, or “One dog's meat is another dog's poison?”
During his wanderings around the yard, Stinka has been known to pick up a tasty tid bit or two and has never been discriminating about experimenting with new flavours and tastes...................Oh yes, before continuing..
................it might be sensible to pop to the loo, or if you prefer, The Bladder Evacuation Disposal Unit (B.E.D.U), for the more discerning, as this could be a longish read!
This is where the squeamishness truly shines. When approaching the "toliets," he first sprays an entire can of air freshener inside before entering, disturbing Stinka in the process.
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Armed with a toilet brush or two he holds it at arm's length, not wishing to accidentally splash himself, leading to a full-body shudder and an immediate need to "sterilise” the affected area with hand sanitiser.
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The idea of reaching into the bowl sends him into a silent, wide-eyed panic.
Oh, Mookin, bless his determined heart! He's not just cleaning a toilet; he's embarking on an epic, almost mythic struggle against the very essence of foulness! Facing his demons? More about the demons as you progress.
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"Hold fast, little brushes! For today, we face not just dirt, but a miasma of unimaginable origin!" Mookin shouts, his battle cry muffled slightly by the sheer density of the purple-pink haze billowing from the outhouse. He brandishes his two toilet brushes like a valiant knight, one a sword of sanitation, the other a shield against olfactory assault.
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He lunges forward, a valiant albeit slightly uncoordinated lunge, only to be met by a counter-attack of particularly potent fumes that make his eyes water. "Agh! A direct hit to the sinuses! The enemy is more cunning than anticipated!" He gasps, stumbling back a step, perhaps wondering if he should have packed a gas mask alongside his trusty apron. It is amazing in these stories how things can appear out of thin air. On this occasion there is very little thin air available.
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Undeterred, Mookin circles, feinting left with a brush, then right, trying to find an opening in the swirling cloud of awfulness. He squints, trying to pierce the murky depths to locate the source. Is it a lurking monster of grime? A sentient sludge beast? Or perhaps just... Stinka, having a particularly aromatic moment.
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"Fear not, citizens of..........well, nowhere in particular, as I fear that I am the only one here! Mookin will prevail! Though he may need a stronger air freshener, and perhaps a good, long shower after this!"
It's a clash of titans: Mookin, the humble cleaner, against the unseen, all-encompassing power of 'Stinka's Special Blend,' and the gremlins. May his brushes be ever strong, and his nose forever resilient!
Even the most disheartened cleaner can find the strength for one final, triumphant move! If only the moral of the story was “Dog eat dog,” Not dog eats toxic waste?
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There is always a moral to any story if you look hard enough to find one. Each event can be a challenge, each challenge has an outcome and each outcome leads to a new beginning. A foundation for your next step. Ignore the trivial at your peril.
