FUCK YOU, TOILET!

I did it. I bloody did it! It's taken me 13 days of daily strain, sweat, tears and incredible amounts of abuse from an inanimate object but I have finally achieved the impossible. For 13 long, long days I have been reading books, watching videos and buying the proper equipment to conquer this mammoth task and not one single bit of advice from these helped. Then yesterday, after an hour (A WHOLE FUCKING HOUR) of working on this uncooperative, evil, rock-solid BASTARD, I just snapped and ran to my tool box. I'll let you take some time to get over the shock of knowing that I have a tool box before telling you that I grabbed a screwdriver, shoved it under the cap of the toilet seat hinge and prized the rusty, piss-congealed nut and bolt right off. You don't get that in your fancy DIY books. In fact, they specifically all say to definitely NOT do what I did but I just couldn't take looking into that toilet any more. Every day, on my hands and knees, using all my strength to try to unscrew a bolt so that I can put on a new toilet seat so that I don't spend all my poo time falling off the toilet. Every day looking at that smug, porcelain bastard with his big round mouth going "OOOOOOH, you nearly had it that time. NOT! OOOOOOOOH, I've seen some shits in my time but you're taking the piss. I thought that was my job! OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH, YOU'LL NEVER DO IT!"

But with one stab of a screwdriver, one full on body-weight prize and one big scream and it was done. The bolt off, the new seat on and the lid down to shut the toilet up. I bet he's looking a bit flush now.

DAMN! I should have said that to him yesterday. Anyway, I fixed the toilet seat and I just feel utterly masculine. It's like I have a six-pack, a misspelled tattoo and I've finally got schoolpubes. Everywhere. Finally fixing that bastard has given my cock a real lift too. It's massive now and barks to let me know when there's a Beyonce video on telly. It even drinks beer! But only after I've drank a lot of beer.

Yep. It's great being a bloke.

The great thing about fixing something as rugged and masculine as a toilet seat is that I had an audience to witness it. A perfect audience. Just one man. My garden has decided to start eating both my neighbours gardens so it was time to call in an expert. I wasn't happy at calling in a gardener because my fragile manliness would have to be put to question again. That said, I don't like creepy crawlies and jaggy things sometimes nearly make me bleed so I had no choice. He turned up with his big arms and brushing his chest hair out of his face and started to work immediately. I know! He didn't even blog first. He just STARTED. Punching down trees and kicking the grasses head in and being manly and making me feel tiny and weak and with an unbarking cock. It barely coughed now. And that was all the inspiration I needed to finish this thing between the toilet seat and me.

Just as I screamed my big manly scream while prizing at the evil bolt, the gardener walked in. He walked in to see the bolt fly off. I had a screwdriver in one hand and now a rusty bolt in the other. He said he'd finished his little bit of weeding and I walked outside with him to check everything was as me and my barking cock desired. I took the screwdriver and bolt with me. I could talk to him on his level, or even just above his level, if I had those with me. The fact that he had completely changed my garden in a matter of two hours while I spent 13 days trying to change a toilet seat couldn't stop my feeling of masculine authority over this little garden gnome who is basking in my glory. I even gave him a real man's handshake too. You know, one that you have to put your whole arm out and then fully swing your body right round so that your hand CLASHES with his. It really hurt but I didn't go on about it.

I have another drawer to fix today. In a way, I hope it gives me shit. I DARE it to not do what I tell it to. Sock drawer? Prepare to meet your assembler.

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