My Apology To The Girl Whose Toilet I Ruined

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Nice Move

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Hey, you. It’s been a while. Your hair is looking… nice? I can never tell, honestly. It’s hair. Unless you chop it off or change the color, that’s all it is. Anyway, I know I sure left in a hurry last time we hung out together. That’s probably as much your fault as it is mine. You were the one who said Indian food was a great idea for a first date meal, despite my numerous suggestions to the contrary. Now that the fallout from that has mostly subsided (on my end at least), I guess it’s time I took the high road and apologized like a man for desecrating your toilet. Here goes.

I’m sorry you can only afford a low flow crapper. I understand that apartments don’t exactly advertise “our johns are subpar!,” but you probably could have done a little research when you moved in. Everyone knows that the toilet is commonly referred to as “the engine of the house” because, without it, nothing else works. I’m sure the washer/dryer is nice, and that freezer sure does hold a lot of Lean Cuisines, but you’d use the first a lot less and enjoy the second a lot more if you had a pot that functioned properly.

I’m incredibly sorry that I ordered that unpronounceable curry dish despite saying Indian was a bad choice. Sure, I could have played it safe and had a salad like you did, but who the fuck goes to an exotic restaurant for a salad? That’s like rolling up in a high-end Italian joint and getting a hamburger. I’m almost glad this whole situation happened, because you have what we in the biz call “poor taste.” Next time you want a salad, go to a place like Olive Garden. That stuff’s unlimited there, so you can eat even less and I can enjoy some too. Way to step all over Indian culture, Michelle.

It’s a real shame you refused to turn off the window locks. I don’t care how heavy the rain was, something tells me you would have preferred a little water damage to the short term stench that almost popped out. You’re lucky I’m a gentleman with an iron sphincter.

I’m sorry the sex, which I thoroughly enjoyed, was so rushed. Actually, on second thought, that kind of worked out for both of us. Could have popped out a different orifice, am I right? I’m sorry for how inappropriate a comment that was. Social situations make me gassy.

I’m sorry for the volume. It was what some people call “explosive,” and probably did a number on your security deposit. I’m also sorry that the repeated flushing did more harm than good. Again, you should have done more research, and should probably invest in a more durable plunger.

I’m sorry I went out the window. It had nothing to do with the bumping of our uglies, because, once again, that was great. You’re great. A combination of the rising flood waters and the awful volume likely contributed more to my escape than you did, although that whole salad thing still has me skeezed out. Seriously, do you go to a beer hall and order water? You’re why other countries hate us.

Anyway, I’m glad we can put all this behind us. I’m over it, and I heard you found a new place, so that’s super. Want to do something some time? I hear there’s this rad chili festival coming to town, and the girl I wanted to go with canceled on me. What time can I pick you up? Well, think about it at least. See you in Hell, too.

Karl Karlson is TFM's self-proclaimed cartoon expert and your best buddy. He resides in the mountains of NC where he wrestles black bears and attempts to grow a beard. Karl gave up liquor following an unfortunate incident involving tequila and a vacuum cleaner, but he isn't above a nice stout on the porch.

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