John

toilet

I am a toilet.

I know what you’re thinking. I am the lowest of all mundane household items. I don’t mind. I’m used to being shat on, after all.

I’m proud of the humble job I do. The people in this house sit on me and shit on me, and they don’t give a second thought to the hard work I do for them. It’s fine, really. It’s my lot. And besides, the people here need me. I am, after all, the only one doing this job.

I do grow tired of all the work, sometimes. Today, the large man in the house who calls himself Doug, he had quite a heavy load for me. I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say it was a lot of work.

The boy throws toys in me. It doesn’t feel good. Also, he’s quite a mess. I don’t think he respects me at all, and I don’t enjoy him much, either.

The woman was sick today. She got it all over the floor, too. This was definitely not in my job description.

You know what? I’m sick of this shit. I’m taking the day off. I’m finished flushing for today. Now let’s see if I can get some respect.

 

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