Dearly Beloved

The following sign hangs in my bathroom:

Dearly Beloved,

If you throw anything in to my toilet besides your own bodily fluids and/or a wee bit of toilet paper, you are responsible for the ensuing shit. You will also buy me a new rug.

Much Love,
your Hostess.

My Life In Shit.

Update: I've effectively flooded my apartment with shit water. The landlord blames it on me. I blame it on the building's old pipes. Today is a great day to cry; hysterically.

The Shit Experience

It's Friday afternoon. I smell mothballs. I think it's me and spray on some good old Un Jardin en Mediterranee. 15 minutes later I still smell mothballs, but the scent is stronger. Soon, I notice a large quantity of brown water is creeping from the entryway toward my bed. WTF. Throwing open the apartment door, I'm greeted by a rushing torrent of water complete with pieces of shit. The source of the flooding, flowing from what appears to be a shit volcano at the end of the hallway, is an busted sewer pipe. Fabulous.