Man, I hate cleaning my toilet.

            I need a maid.

            Dude, I can't afford a maid. (Why do I call myself “dude?” Shouldn’t I call myself, “Myself?”)

            Maybe if I sold a kidney, I could afford a maid.

            Hey, if I sold both kidneys, I wouldn't need a toilet.

            Oh right: poop. Well played, human digestive biology, well played.

            You know what? The government should provide everyone with a maid. Someone to clean their toilet. They should institute a national maid-corps program, the members of which— and everyone would be a member—would clean other people's toilets. Specifically, my toilet.

            Oh. Wait. Then they'd make me clean someone else's toilet. We'd all just be cleaning each other's toilets. And what if I got some big fat guy who takes, like, explosive dumps that go all over the place? Man, that would suck. For me and for the fat guy, because I'd totally blow off cleaning his toilet.

            Hmmm. I believe I might have found the problem with socialism: having to clean some fat dude’s explosive dumps.

            Why is this toilet-cleanser blue? Does blue toilet-cleanser work better? Is there something in the blue that makes little shit-crumbs shit themselves and run away? I suppose I'd be scared of a blue cleanser if I were a shit-crumb. Or maybe if I were a shit crumb, I'd have other problems, bigger problems, that would swamp the blue-cleanser issue.

            Nah. Shit-crumbs are happy-go-lucky. Like Shriners. But without the motorized tricycles. When I flush, they'll scream, "Wheeeee!" and slide down the drain like kids at a water-park. Of course, only other shit-crumbs are able to hear them. They're not great communicators, shit-crumbs.

            I wonder if a really small person could flush himself down the toilet? Like Verne Troyer, maybe. It'd have to be a powerful toilet, like, you'd need an outboard motor. If I were Verne Troyer, I'd never put an outboard motor on my toilet.

            Flush! Wheeeeee! Oh, okay, fine, I made that sound, not the shit-crumbs. I know that; I'm not crazy. I don't care what the fucking voices in my head say. Well, I'd care if they said, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" but they don't; mostly they just tell me to be extremely rude.

            If there are really alligators in the sewer, and they're really white from lack of sunlight, did I just dye one blue? Because if so, and anyone, like a sewer worker, saw that alligator, that guy who saw him would probably laugh his ass off. And while he was laughing the alligator would sneak up and bite him in two. You’re welcome, newly-blue sewer alligator.

            Now my toilet smells like pine. I guess that's nice. If someone came in here right now, would they think I ate a Christmas tree yesterday?

             Time to clean the mold out of the fridge. I hope the spores are hallucinogenic.