Tag Archives: Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 6

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In the first floor lavatory of the Beta Theta Zeta sorority house, Gretchen primped herself in front of the mirror, being careful to make sure her makeup was just right.

“Ahem,” Eleanor said as she pulled a crinkled up piece of paper out of her pocket and flattened it out on the sink counter. “I wrote you a little something.”

“You did?” Gretchen asked. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Please,” Eleanor said. “You know spoken word poetry is my bag. Ahem.”

Eleanor coughed at least six or seven more times into her hand until her vocal chords were primed and ready. She then read from the paper. “‘My love for you is like a river – deep, winding, mysterious…and oh so wet.’”

“That’s nice,” Gretchen said. “Short and sweet – just like you.”

“It’s not over,” Eleanor said.

Gretchen ran a tube of bubblegum colored lipstick over her lips. “Oh sorry.”

“Come,” Eleanor read from her masterpiece. “Join me! Become one with my spiritual canoe and together we will float down a river filled with our love forever and ever and ever and ever and…”

“Thanks, Elle,” Gretchen said.

It wasn’t over. “…and ever and ever and ever…”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a way with words.”

“There was like twenty more ‘and evers’ but I think you get the gist,” Eleanor said.

Gretchen smiled and pecked Eleanor on the cheek. The hipster girl’s cheek flushed.

“That was wonderful,” Gretchen said. “Thank you.”

“So,” Eleanor said. “Will you?”

“Will I what?” Gretchen asked.

Eleanor through up her arms in exasperation. “Float down the river of love with me for ever and ever and ever…”

Gretchen’s stomach turned. “Oh…you were serious?”

Eleanor was quiet for a moment, then blew Gretchen a raspberry. “Pbbbht! As if!”

Gretchen giggled. “Oh my God! You got me!”

“I totally got you!” Eleanor said.

“I mean, I’m only twenty-one,” Gretchen said. “‘Forever is a long time and I don’t know if I’m done with penis yet.’”

Eleanor fumed, then took a deep breath and calmed herself down. “How do you not know if you are done with the very instrument of oppression that men the patriarchy has been unleashing upon the sisterhood since the dawn of time?”

“The penis?” Gretchen asked.

“Yes!” Eleanor shouted. “Of course, the penis! How do you think the patriarchy…”

Wham! The bathroom door flew open and a quartet hurried in just in time to avoid Eleanor’s latest antri-patriarchy rant.

“Get me to the shitter!” Chad cried. “For the love of God, get me to the shitter!”

“Move!” Britney shouted. “Everyone out of the way!”

“Chad,” Lilly said. “I know this is a bad time but do you want to go out next weekend?”

“Can’t…talk,” Chad said as Britney and Paul led the big man on campus into a stall. “Must…poop…out…everything…I have ever eaten before…in my entire…life.”

“That’s cool,” Lilly said. “You can hit me up later on Lifebox or something.”

Paul closed the stall door and he and Britney stepped back as Chad did his dirty business.

“Ohhh!” Chad cried as the bathroom became engulfed in an orchestra of terrible sounds and even worse smells. “Sweet relief!”

“Just let it all out, man,” Paul said. “You’ll be fine.”

Gretchen stepped away the mirror and looked at Paul and Britney. “Oh my God. Is that Chad Becker?”

A series of toots erupted from the stall before Chad answered. “In the flesh, babe…”

“Oh my God,” Gretchen said. “Chad! Why didn’t you call me back?”

“Oh,” Britney said. “For the love of…seriously?”

“Which one are you again?” Chad asked as the toilet bowl ramped up the echoes of his butt blasts.

“Gretchen Dieterman,” Gretchen said.

“Short girl,” Chad said. “A little pudgy?”

“God no,” Gretchen replied.

“I don’t know,” Chad said as he stood up off on the toilet. He got down on his knees on the dirty bathroom floor and puked into the already brown toilet water. “I’ll check my records and get back to you.”

“That’s cool,” Gretchen said as she twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “Whatevs.”

“Wait,” Lilly said. “Chad, you said you were going to call ME back three months ago. Now you’re going to call this skank back before me?”

“Them’s the breaks, girl…BLEAH!!!”

Gretchen got into Lilly’s face. “Who are you calling a skank, bitch?”

Lilly refused to back down. “Who are you calling a bitch, bitch?”

Britney positioned herself in-between the bickering females. “Are you two really going to fight over this loser?”

Chad was back, sitting on the bowl again. More farts. More smells. “Babe, I’m not a loser. What do you call a man who dedicated ten years of his life to getting a two-year community college degree?”

“A loser,” Britney said.

“Well,” Chad said. “You say tomato, I say ‘tomahto.’ You call me a loser, but I just say that means I’m committed.”

“Like you know anything about commitment, Chad,” Britney said. “Your parents just keep paying for you to go here because they don’t want you living with them, destroying their house and you keep failing classes because you know you’ll never make it in the real world.”

“Wait,” Lilly said.

“You dated him too?” Gretchen asked.

“Worst mistake of my life,” Britney said.

“Paul!” Chad shouted. “Paul, you out there bro?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied.

“Gonna need some major TP, bro!”
“Right,” Paul said. The nerd opened up an empty stall, pulled the toilet paper roll out of the dispenser, then hurled it over the side of Chad’s stall.

“Much obliged, kemo sabe,” Chad said.

“Don’t mention it,” Paul said.

“Whoa,” Lilly said. “How do we know you’re not over Chad?”

“Yeah,” Gretchen said. “Maybe you’re just trying to scare us off so you can have him all to yourself.”

Chad’s backside ripped a sound akin to the motor of a struggling leaf blower. “Putt, putt, putt, putt, putt…”

“If that doesn’t scare you off, nothing will,” Britney said.

Eleanor had had enough of this unsavory display. She stopped her foot and started screaming. “Enough! Gretchen, you dated that…that…thing in there?”

“I told you I didn’t know if I was done with penis yet,” Gretchen said.

“Why is he here?” Gretchen said as he pointed at Chad’s stall. She then pointed at Paul. “And why is he here? This is a female restroom only!”

“It was an emergency,” Britney said. “The idiot soused himself on Spazenbrau and it was literally coming out of both ends.”

Chad farted. “Still is.”

“This is unacceptable,” Eleanor said as she pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling campus police.”

“Oh come on,” Britney said. “Is that really necessary?”

“It is absolutely necessary,” Eleanor said.

“But Elle,” Gretchen whined. “You’re going to get him in trouble!”

“He got himself in trouble by coming in here,” Eleanor said.

Chad let a few stinkers rip, then interrupted the conversation. “I identify as a chick!”

Eleanor’s face scrunched up. “What?”

“I self-identify as a female!” Chad shouted between butt blasts. “I just now started thinking, ‘Damn, I really wish I was born with a vagina instead of a penis. What a drag.’”

Paul laughed. Britney lowered her head into hear hands out of sheer embarrassment.
Eleanor swiped the hang up button on her phone. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a chick on the inside and I have a spiritual vagina,” Chad said. “And Sitwell Community College has a very strict policy when it comes to people being allowed to use the bathroom that corresponds to their gender identity.”

“Oh no,” Eleanor said as she put her phone back in her pocket. “I’m very sorry I disturbed you, ma’am.”

“You should be!” Chad shouted as he strained on the toilet. “Oh Jesus, my ass is on fire!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Eleanor said. “I consider myself to be one of the most woke students on this campus but I guess we all make mistakes.”

“It’s cool,” Chad said. “Not your fault you’re a dumbass.”

“I can relate because sometimes I wish I was born with a penis instead of a vagina,” Eleanor said.

“Well,” Chad said. “Would that I could rip my penis off and trade you your vagina for it but I’m no medical scientist so I don’t know how to do that.”

Britney shook her head. “I just…I can’t believe this is my life.”

Paul just laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Wait,” Eleanor said as she looked at Paul. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Paul asked.

“Do you also self-identify as a female?”

Paul scratched his head and stalled for awhile.

“Tell her the truth, Beermeister,” Chad said.

“I…I…”

Chad made a courtesy flush, then turned the new water brown instantly. “Tell her about your spiritual cooter, dummy!”

“I’m uh…just going to be outside.” Paul walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“That’s too bad that you’re a woman now, Chad,” Gretchen said. “I was really hoping to do something with you.”

“Me too,” Lilly said.
“Skank,” Gretchen said.

“Bitch,” Lilly replied.

“Oh, don’t worry ladies,” Chad said. “I can still stick it to the two of you.”

Eleanor pulled the phone out of her pocket. “I knew it! You love your penis and you are ruled by it! I’m calling the cops!”

“No, no!” Chad said. “Gender is fluid!”

“Oh,” Eleanor said as she returned the phone to her pocket. “I forgot about it.”

“Today I hate my penis, thus allowing me to use the ladies’ room,” Chad said. “But for all I know, I might start loving the little guy again and may even feel manly enough to give it to Lucy and Gretel over there.”

“Lilly,” Lilly said.

“Gretchen,” Gretchen added.

“I’m a monster,” Eleanor said. “Please forgive me.”

Chad unleashed a torrent of plops right into the toilet. “It’s a tall order but I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said. “You’re very brave.”

“I know,” Chad replied.

“Damn it,” Britney muttered under her breath. “He can even charm lesbians.”

“What?” Eleanor asked.

“Oh nothing,” Britney said as she leaned up against the wall.

All of a sudden, the pipe connecting to Chad’s toilet rumbled.

“Jesus, Chad,” Britney said. “Is that you?”

“I don’t think so,” Chad replied.

“RAAARRRRRGHHHH!” A loud, beastly roar filled the bathroom. The wall of the stall flew off. It sailed through the air before landing on top of the four girls, pinning them to the ground.

Chad had no idea what was consuming him. All he knew was that something sharp, actually many sharp somethings, were shredding his torso, tearing him and grinding him apart, mashing his body into mush and spraying his body and bits everywhere.

“Oh God!” were Chad’s last words. “I haven’t banged enough chicks yet! Oh God!”

Britney’s vision was blurry, a condition caused by her head smacking into the bathroom floor. She pulled herself out from underneath the stall wall and crawled along the watery floor. The broken pipe sent gallons everywhere.

“Hissssssss….”

Britney turned her head toward the scary sound. Her eyes started to focus. For a brief moment, she caught site of what her brain registered as an enormous, menacing, toothy lizard. It stared at Britney. Britney stared back, then she passed out.

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Six Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays!

Truly, the longest meaningful commitment I’ve ever made…

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Five Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Can you believe it has been five whole weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays, 3.5 readers?  Now that’s commitment!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 5

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Like some kind of odd, six legged monster, the trio hobbled their way down a side street and onto the main campus of Sitwell Community College. It was a cool Spring night and students were bustling about, posting trivial nonsense on their Lifebox pages and getting offended over anything and everything.

“Brit,” Paul said as he huffed and puffed. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Beta Zeta Theta,” Britney replied.

“The sorority house?” Paul asked.

“All the other buildings are locked down for the night,” Britney said. “It’s our only shot.”

“They’ll never let him shit there,” Paul lamented.

“Why?” Britney asked.

Chad perked up and burped. “Because I totally nailed seventy-five percent of them and never called any of them back! Woot woot! Party in Chaddy’s pants, y’all!”

“Oh God,” Britney said as she caught a whiff of Chad’s silent but deadly blast. “That smells like a party no one’s going to anytime soon, trust me.”

“Don’t hate the player, babe,” Chad said. His stomach gurgled, he heaved, and the trio stopped. Chad shook his head. “False alarm.” The trio moved on.

“Only seventy-five percent?” Britney asked. “You’re showing restraint as you enter decade two of your quest for an associate’s degree.”

“Nah baby,” Chad said. “It’s cuz the other twenty-five percent were straight up uggos! Chad don’t do no dogs, baby! Woof, woof, arr arr arrrrrwoooooo!”

The trio passed all sorts of student groups. The peaceniks were strumming banjos under a tree. The cool kids were smoking joints. The nerds were playing an elaborate, card based roleplaying game involving dragons, swords, and ill-tempered elves.

“Britney!” Chad yelled.

“I’m here,” Britney said.

“Britney,” Chad said as he farted loudly. “I want you to know I have learned the error of my ways.”

“Whatever, Chad,” Britney said.

“No, really baby,” Chad said. “When I told you that I’d love you forever and then walked right on over to Jenny Sinclair’s room to get a handy that was totally uncool of me. Way, way uncool.”

“It’s all in the past,” Britney said.

“It wasn’t even a good one!” Chad said. “Her hand was all dry and calloused! And she had a bottle of lotion sitting there right there on the nightstand and I nudged my head toward it but she didn’t take the hint so the whole time I was like, ‘This must be like what it feels like to stick your junk inside a tube of sandpaper.’”

Britney sighed. “Just try not to speak.”

Chad ignored the advice. “Babe, if I live through this, I want you to take me back and I swear I’ll be a better man.”

“Not happening,” Britney said.

“Please?” Chad asked.

“Never,” Britney answered.

“Pretty please?” Chad asked.

“No,” Britney replied.

The scene became way more crowded as the trio reached the center of the campus. There, a massive rally was underway. On a prefabricated stage, a young woman wearing thick glasses, a butch haircut, combat boots and a Che Guevara t-shirt was shouting furiously to the crowd.

Britney spotted the banner hanging above the speaker’s head. It read: “The Everything is Super Offensive and Racist and Sexist So Don’t Invade My Safe Space Without a Trigger Warning or Else You Are Literally Hitler Rally.”

“Oh my God,” Britney said. “I forgot that was tonight.”

“It’s the seventh one this month,” Paul said. “After awhile, you lose track.”

“Everything is super offensive and racist and sexist!” the speaker shouted into a bullhorn.

“What about flowers?” a random member of the crowd asked.

“Sexist!” the speaker shouted. “Men try to give them to us to distract us from the fact that they are all scumbag perverts trying to rule our lives because they think their penises give them a God given right to do so!”

“Don’t say, ‘God’ please!” a second crowd member said. “As an atheist, any reference to a deity offends me.”

“I’m sorry!” the speaker shouted into her bullhorn.

“It’s cool,” the atheist said. “Just stay woke.”

“But does everyone see how we are all discriminatory piles of garbage without even realizing it?” the speaker asked. “Like I said, ‘everything is super offensive and racist and sexist!”

“What about pizza?” a third member of the crowd asked.

Without even taking a second to think about the question, the speaker launched into an angry tirade. “Pizza is one of the most ethnically discriminatory foods imaginable. Think about all the hard working Italians who came to this country and put so much hard work and labor to build our cities and infrastructure and how do we repay them? By culturally appropriating their cuisine. It should be a hate crime punished by death if you eat a piece of pizza without showing proof that you are a person of Italian ancestry. If you are not Italian and you eat pizza anyway, then you are literally worse than Hitler!”

“That’s true,” a fourth member of the crowd said. “My Dad eats burritos all the time and he isn’t even Mexican and I’ve always felt he’s literally worse than Hitler.”

Britney, Paul and Chad worked their way through the crowd, bumping into protestors left and right as they tried to pass through.

“What about staplers?” a fifth member of the crowd asked.

“What?” the speaker asked through her bullhorn.

“Staplers,” the protestor asked as she pantomimed using a stapler with her hand. “You know, the thing you keep on your desk to attach pieces of paper together.

“Oh!” the speaker said. “Staplers are by far the most offensive of all office products. I mean, why are we trying to bind pieces of paper down when pieces of paper, just like people, shouldn’t be tied down. If you use a stapler then you better start goose-stepping yourself out of here because you are literally worse than Hitler!”

The crowd cheered and clapped.

“And who decided that pieces of paper have to be white, anyway?” the speaker asked. “We’re all so used to writing on white pieces of paper with black pens, but why can’t pieces of paper be black and pens be white? Everyone in the office supply industry should drop whatever they are doing and address this injustice of epic proportions but they won’t because they’re all literally worse than Hitler!”

More applause. The trio had almost reached the edge of the crowd and were about to break free when Paul had to go and open his mouth.
“The ink,” Paul said.

The crowd gasped. The speaker looked toward Paul and raised her bullhorn to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

Paul coughed into his hand to clear his throat. “Umm…the ink?”

Britney closed her eyes and winced. “Damn it Paul, now is not the time!”

Chad burped and farted in unison.

“What about it?” the speaker asked.

“In order to make paper black, you’d have to dip it in a black dye,” Paul said. “That would not be cost effective and also a waste of precious resources. Further, white paper is one of the most easily recycled materials, but if the paper is covered with ink then that makes it more difficult to recycle, thus generating unnecessarily damage to the environment.”

A quiet hush consumed the crowd. Everyone stared at the trio.

“What have you done, Paul?” Britney asked. “What have you done?”

Paul swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

The speaker’s nostrils flared. She gritted her teethed and seethed with rage. “He exercised independent thought! Get him!”

Chad hurled his guts all over the grass, but before he could wipe off his mouth, he was being dragged across campus but his friend and ex. Over a hundred irate protestors were in hot pursuit, shaking their fists and hurling expletive laden threats sprinkled with the words “tolerance” and “understanding.”

“You and your big mouth,” Britney said.

“I said I was sorry!” Paul cried.

“My feelings were hurt beyond repair!” a sixth random protester shouted. “I’ll suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome for the rest of my life now!”

“I’m sorry!” Paul shouted back to the random protester with alleged PTSD. “Your feelings are valid and I was inconsiderate!”

“What about me?” a seventh random protester yelled. “I’ll need to pet a therapy dog and stay within the lines of my therapy coloring books for the next six months before I begin the healing process over this!”

“I’m sorry!” Paul shouted back. “I’ll buy you some crayons, I swear!”

“Come back here!” the speaker shouted into her bullhorn. “Making me run is offensive to me because I don’t identify as a runner and that makes you literally worse than Hitler!”

The trio reached the entrance to the Beta Theta Zeta sorority house. The front door was locked, but through the glass they could see a blonde sitting at the front desk, bebopping her head back and forth as she listened to music through a pair of earbuds in her ears.

“Oh thank God, it’s Lilly!” Britney said as she banged on the door. “I have English Lit with her. Lilly! Lilly, let us in!”

Lilly was too far into her jams to pay attention to the door. She mouthed the words to Stank Daddy’s latest single and swayed her head back and forth. “Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

Paul turned his head and died a little inside as the crowd of unruly protestors drew near. Somehow, they’d managed to get ahold of flaming torches and pitchforks.

“Incoming social justice warriors!” Paul shouted as he joined Britney in banging on the door. “For the love of God, Lilly, let us in!”

Chad farted, then pulled out his cellphone. “I got this.”

The drunk thumbed through his contacts, then handed the phone to Britney.

“Her too?” Britney asked as she pushed a button on the phone marked, “Hot Blonde, Decent Face, OK Ass.”

“Yup,” Chad replied.

“You’re a pig,” Britney said as she waited for Lilly’s phone to ring.

“I know,” Chad said.

Lilly’s voice came through on Chad’s phone. “Squee! O-M-G Chad, you finally called me back!”

Britney mustered up all of her lung capacity and shouted into the phone, “Let us in, bitch!”

Lilly looked at the front door. She spotted the trio and the incoming unruly mob. She hit a button under her desk.

The door buzzed open. Paul, Britney and Chad ducked into the sorority and shut the door just in time to watch one protestor after another slam themselves up against the glass.

“I am offended by this!” a seventh random protestor said.

“Glass is offensive!” an eighth random protestor said. “It allows me to see who victimized me and ruined my life with inappropriate speech but doesn’t allow me to kick their ass. Whoever invented glass is literally worse than Hitler.”

The speaker pushed her way through the crowd and tried the door handle. The door was locked once more. She lifted up her bullhorn. “Sorry everyone. It looks like we won’t be able to rip those three limb from limb and bathe in their blood tonight. Everyone go home, get some sleep, and meet back here tomorrow morning for the anti-violence rally.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 4

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“Unggggghhh…”

Chad moaned and groaned as Britney and Paul rolled him over.

“Do you feel any better?” Britney asked.

Chad responded with a deep, baritone belch. “BRAAAAP!”

The music had been cut. No one was dancing anymore. Everyone stood around, staring at the scene that was unfolding before their eyes.

Paul locked his arms underneath Chad’s armpits and helped his pal stand up. “Come on, man. You gotta walk it off.”

Beads of sweat dripped from Chad’s forehead. He looked dizzy. His knees wobbled. It became clear Paul wouldn’t be able to hold the patient by himself, so Britney inserted herself underneath Chad’s right arm, while Paul took the left.

“I love you guys so much,” Chad said in the midst of a stupor. “Really. I don’t say that enough.”

Paul patted Chad on the back. “I love you too, buddy.”

Chad looked to Britney, eagerly waiting for a response.

“Only as friends,” Britney said.

“Aww,” Chad lamented.

“We’re never getting back together, Chad,” Britney said.

“Aww, but baby…”

Chad’s protestations were interrupted by a loud stomach gurgle, followed by an unceremonious hurl all over the dance floor.

“Oh God,” Chad said as he came up for air and wiped chunks of his lunch off of his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “Guess there was an aftershock.”

“Come on,” Britney said. “We need to get you to a…”

Almost as if on cue, a foghorn style gas explosion bursted out of Chad’s rear end. The smell was followed by a terrible sight. Britney’s jaw dropped as she noticed the backside Chad’s once pristine blue jeans had turned a disgusting shade of brown.

“…bathroom!” Britney shouted.

Chad went delirious. His head slumped to one side. He could barely keep his eyes open. “Chaddy wants sleepy.”

“No,” Britney said as she and Paul maneuvered Chad through the packed frat house. “No sleepy for Chad now.”

“Move it!” Chad shouted. “Out of the way, people! We’ve got a sick man, here!”

As the trio approached the bathroom, they found a long line that was at least twenty five people deep.

“Outta the way!” Paul shouted.

A horrendously dressed hipster, complete with an obnoxious fedora, sweater vest, dirt beard and Buddy Holly glasses stood at the back of the line. He flipped when he saw Chad being hurried past everyone who was waiting.

“Hey!” the hipster shouted as he pulled a pair of earbuds out of his ear. “You can’t just cut everyone!”

“Back off, you Justin Timberlake wannabe bitch!” Britney shouted.

“No!” the hipster cried. “I’ve been standing in this line for an hour!”

“Look,” Paul said. “I’ve got a dude that’s blowing up here. Just shut up and listen to your boy band.”

The hipster pushed the pause button on his phone’s music player. “It’s post developmental fifth wave funk with just a dab of East European experimental tribal ska, I’ll have you know.”

Chad burped and farted at the same time. “The Spazenbrau wants out!” Chad shouted. “Oh for the love of God and all things holy, the Spazenbrau wants out!”

“Mother of God!” Paul cried. “It’s coming out of both ends!”

“Why is this line so long?” Britney asked.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but I totes heard a rumor that Jeff Bixby is totally finger banging Sarah Leominster in there,” the hipster said.

Britney rolled her eyes. “Come on. We need to find another bathroom.”

“Hey man,” Paul said to the hipster. “Do you know where the nearest bathroom is?”

The hipster pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. “I do know of many other bathrooms, but I doubt you have ever heard of them.”

“BLEAAAAHHH!” Chad projectile vomited all over the hipster’s face, coating the ultra trendy weirdo with a heaping helping of sticky goo.

The trio took off, but a Goth girl all in black stopped by to offer the hipster a napkin.

“Thanks,” the hipster said as he wiped off his glasses.

“No problem,” the Goth girl replied. “Looks like you got blasted pretty good there.”

“Yeah,” the hipster said. “Say, do you want to get a locally sourced, gluten free, artisanal vegan scone at a co-op owned cafe sometime?”

“I would,” the Goth girl said. “But I am already promised to Azaglotz, Dark Lord of the Sadistic Realm.”

The hipster popped in his ear buds and unpaused his music. “Damn it. The hot ones are always taken.”

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Three Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Welcome back to Toilet Gator Sundays, truly the best feature of any blog out there.  Does the Huffington Post have Toilet Gator Sundays?  I think not.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 3

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Sitwell Community College

Sitwell, Florida

10 p.m.

Sitwell Community College wasn’t known for academic accomplishment, or successful alumni, or even for getting basic knowledge into the heads of its students. It was, however, known for raging keggers, provided courtesy of Lambda Pi Delta, the fraternity that owned the rowdiest off-campus party house.

For the past decade, those soirees had been carried out by perpetual student Chad Becker, a long, flaxen haired hunk who never bothered to wear anything other than a loosely tied bathrobe and worn, leather sandals.

While Chad addressed the crowd of drunken degenerates, his frat brother Paul, a young, gangly looking dweeb, inserted a plastic tube into a funnel.

“Fellow Deltas,” Chad said. “I dedicate this next chug to the good people of Syria. May those vile Dakotans stop trying to build a pipeline through their lands once and for all so that Bernie Sanders can focus on his bid to become the president of Afghanistan.”

“You really need to pay more attention to the news, Chad,” Paul said as he cracked open a forty ounce tall boy.

Chad burped, then with slurred speech, stammered out a weak reply. “You really need to pay attention to your face. Because it’s ugly.”

Britney, a fake blond with one inch black roots, stumbled through the crowd on high heels that she was not comfortable walking on in any way whatsoever. Her press on nails may have been fake, but her concern was genuine.

“Chad,” Britney said. “You need to stop.”

“No,” Chad said. “You are the one who needs to stop.”

“Babe,” Britney said. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“College is for drinking, sugar tits,” Chad said before releasing a loud belch.

“This is just his sixth one,” Paul said as he picked up a tall boy.

Britney snatched the giant can out of the geek’s hand. “Spazenbrau? Are you shitting me, Paul? You let him drink six of these?”

Somewhere in the back of the frat house, a DJ got on his mic. “Lambda Pi Delta! Are you having a good time?”

The DJ’s question was met with a deafening chorus of “yeaah!” and “yoo!”

“I can’t hear you!” the DJ said.

The hoots and hollers grew louder.

“My main man Chad Becker is in the back chugging brews in the name of various social causes so you’re going to want to check that out. When the hell are you going to graduate, Chad? You’ve been going to a two-year community college since the Bush administration!”

“Never!” Chad shouted. “Party time for Chad forever! Woo!”

“Now it’s time to get down with a little Stank Daddy,” the DJ said. “Y’all need to get your dance on for Stank’s new single, Smack a Bitch.”

Britney persisted in shouting questions to Paul, who just shrugged his shoulders because he couldn’t hear anything over the blaring rap music lyrics:

Stank Daddy in Da House Gonna Smack a Bitch,
Bust Her Head with a Tire Iron, Leave her ass in a ditch.
Stank Daddy on the scene gonna make some greens.
Gonna smack a bitch until her ass starts to scream.

Gretchen and Eleanor, the two most notorious feminists on campus, sauntered past Chad, Paul and Britney and found a spot on the dance floor to boogie down.

“Should we be dancing to this?” Martha shouted. “It seems awfully chauvinistic.”

“No!” Gretchen shouted back. “Stank Daddy isn’t using the word ‘bitch’ to describe a woman, but rather as an insult to all of the various societal forces that are trying to keep him down.”

The rap continued…

Talkin ‘bout them phat ass bitches with them big ass titties.
Stank Daddy gonna chop ‘em up and bury ‘em under seven different cities.
Smack a bitch yo, smack a bitch yo, if you is a bitch you don’t pass go.

Britney got right up in Paul’s ear and screamed. “Why did you let him drink six of those?”

“He only drank five!” Paul shouted back.

“It doesn’t matter!” Britney cried. “Each can is a forty ounce! A regular beer is like twelve ounces so you basically let him drink sixteen beers!”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Britney,” Paul cried. “You take one math class and you think you know everything!”

Britney carried on. “And it’s a beer slash energy drink. So now you’ve got him drunk out of his mind and all cranked up at the same time!”

“Chaddy wants his drinky poo!” Chad shouted. “Paul, you son of a bitch, you beer me right now!”

Paul stuck the other end of the plastic tube in Chad’s mouth.

“Don’t you do it,” Britney hollered as she wagged a finger in Paul’s face.

“I’m powerless, here!” Paul yelled. “I’m the frat’s Beer Meister. If a brother asks for beer, he gets beer.”

“Cut him off!” Britney shouted.

“I’m sorry,” Paul cried as he cracked open the tall boy. “But I can’t allow anything to interfere with my sacred duty! I took an oath!”

Elsewhere on the dance floor, Gretchen and Eleanor were getting their groove on.

“I’m still not so sure about this song,” Gretchen shouted.

“Will you relax?” Eleanor shouted back. “This song has nothing to do with misogyny. Try to stay woke, babe.”

Stank Daddy’s lyrics filled the room:

Aw yeah I’m talkin’ ‘bout smackin’ up a bitch with a big ass vagina.
Knock her out with a baseball bat, nothin’ could be fine-ah.

Eleanor put her arms around Gretchen’s waist and the pair began to sway back and forth together.

“You know what we should do?!” Eleanor shouted.

“What?!” Gretchen yelled.

“We should totally go back to the sorority house and scissor the crap out of each other as a big F-U to the patriarchy,” Eleanor hollered.

“But will the patriarchy even now?” Gretchen screamed.

“The patriarchy knows everything,” Eleanor yelled as she took Gretchen’s hand and led her off the dance floor.

“OK,” Gretchen shouted. “But I have to tinkle first!”

Meanwhile, a group of looky lous assembled to watch Chad destroy his body. Stank Daddy’s jam died down and the DJ brought the music to a normal volume.

“Chug, chug, chug!!!” the crowd cried as Paul poured the Spazenbrau down the funnel and into Chad’s hatch.

Thirty seconds later, Paul crushed the beer can in his hand. “Empty!”

“Wooo!” cried the onlookers.

Chad stood up, surveyed his adoring fans, then released a giant burp.

“One more for the Chadinator!” Chad shouted to uproarious applause.

“Holy shit baby,” Britney said. “Are you ok?”

“Of course, foxy mama,” Chad said. “I’ve never felt…”

Slam! Chad collapsed to the ground.

“Oh my God!” Britney screamed as she dropped to her knees and slapped Chad in the face. “Baby! Babe, wake up!”

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Toilet Gator Sundays Continue…

Getting bitten on the butt by a toilet gator is hazardous to your health.

But don’t take my word for it.  Here’s a doctor to fill you in…

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 2

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Geriatric Oaks Retirement Home

Boca Raton, Florida

9:00 P.M.

Nurse Sheila was a living saint. For the past twenty years, she’d diligently kept watch over her elderly charges, many of which were dazed, confused, and filled to the brim with anger over the fact that their lives had become a sad, ironic joke.

“What is this?” Mr. Bromstein asked as pulled out the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts and stared downward. “This is supposed to be my schmekel but it looks like a day old slice of pastrami.”

“Have you been putting your cream on?” Nurse Sheila asked.

‘Oy,” Mr. Bromstein answered as he turned to his roommate, Raul. Raul feasted on jello as he watched an old Western film.

“Do you hear what she asks me?” Mr. Bromstein asked Raul. “‘Have I put the cream on?’ she says. Of course I put the cream on. The doctor tells me I have a diseased schmekel and that I need to put some cream on it so I put some cream on it. Why would I not put the cream on it if I’m told that my schmekel requires the assistance of a medical cream?”

“I’m just trying to help, Murray,” Nurse Sheila said. “I’ll ask the doctor to stop by.”

“Yes,” Mr. Bromstein said as he took a seat next to Raul. “See that you do, please. The last thing I need is for my schmekel to turn gangrenous so some quack can waltz in here and tell me that he has to chop it off with a rusty butcher knife and turn me into a lady.”

“Let me know if it gets any worse,” Nurse Sheila said.

“Oy gevalt,” Mr. Bromstein said as he stared at the screen. “Worse? ‘Worse’ she says. How can my life get any worse? I was a good boy. I was nice to my mama and my papa. I grew into a good man. I worked hard. I met a nice girl. Got married. Raised three wonderful children and provided for them but do any of them visit me? No. Always busy, busy busy. Bah, what a letdown for my life to be ending with me having to beg for help with my rotten schmekel.”

Raul lifted up his Army veteran ball cap, scratched his bald head, then covered his dome. He coughed to clear his throat, then offered, “Life’s a joke and death’s the punchline, man.”

Mr. Bromstein shook his head, then turned to Nurse Sheila. “Will you get a load of this putz? Three years I live with this one and not a peep and now that I’m baking up a fungus in my pants he’s got something to say.”

Raul spooned some jello into his mouth, gulped it and then continued on without taking his gaze away from the cowboys on TV. “You’re born. You struggle. You do your best. Whether you’re a king or a pauper, it all ends the same with, with an old, broken down body with a broken dick or a broken ass or a broken something or other keeping from doing the shit that you want to do. Sooner or later, we all just end up waiting to die.”

“Aw, who asked you?” Mr. Bromstein said as he looked at the TV. “And what’s with this goy? Seventeen fellows I’ve seen him shoot now with the same gun and I haven’t seen him reload his gun once. What hack writing. I have a good mind to write a strongly worded letter to the studio.”

“Film’s sixty years old,” Raul said.

“You’re kidding,” Mr. Bromstein said. “It feels like it was just yesterday I saw this picture with my papa. Five pence would get you three shows and all the popcorn you could stick in your pockets. Oh it was so much better then than it is now what with these films about ignoramuses flying around in tights and capes. Don’t get me started.”

“OK gentlemen,” Nurse Sheila said as she stepped out into the hallway. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Bromstein said. “Unless you can whip me up a new schmekel you’re useless to me but thank you anyway, dear.”

Nurse Sheila entered the next room to find Mr. Petersen curled up on his bed in the fetal position with a tinfoil hat perched atop his head.

“Them aliens say I was the one what killed JFK but I was nowhere near the grassy knoll at the time, no sir,” Mr. Petersen said.

“Mr. Petersen,” Nurse Sheila said. “How are you this evening?”

Mr. Petersen wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth in bed. “J. Edgar Hoover. J. Edgar Hoover put fluoride in the water to keep us all under control so the mole people could build a colony right under our nose.”

“That good, huh?” Nurse Sheila asked.

“When I look in my brain’s retrograde celery basket I can see all the ebbs and flows of the grand conspiracy behind the free masons and their never-ending plot to wrap the world in polyester and sell us all down the river to the intergalactic robot consortium,” Mr. Petersen said.

“I think we’re going to talk to the resident psychiatrist to see about upping your dosage,” Nurse Sheila said.

The nurse looked to the right to find an empty bed. “Mr. Petersen. Where’s Mr. Hogan?”

“Hogan,” Mr. Petersen said. “That man’s not Hogan. He’s a spy working deep cover on a joint operation conducted by the CIA and MI6 to find out what I know about the lizard people.”
Nurse Sheila opened the bathroom door and took a peak. It was empty.

“How long has he been gone?” Nurse Sheila asked.

Mr. Petersen glared at the nurse. “How long are the federales going to insist that the moon landing was fake when we all know that it was just a dog and pony show designed to appease their corporate overlords into so that we’d all be too stupid and ignorant to realize that powerful hallucinatory drugs are added to the world’s supply of pancake batter on a monthly basis?”

Nurse Sheila sighed. “Try to get some sleep.”

The nurse picked up speed as she hurried down the hall. “Has anyone seen Mr. Hogan?” she called out. There was no answer.

A strapping young orderly came down the hall.

“Ted,” Nurse Sheila said. “Mr. Hogan’s not in his room.”

“Shit,” Ted replied. “He was ten minutes ago. I’ll do a sweep.”

“Do that,” Nurse Sheila said. “In the meantime, I have a hunch.”

A candy striper walked down the hall, pushing a cart filled with covered dishes.

“Tara,” Nurse Sheila said. “Have you seen Mr. Hogan around?”

“No,” Tara said. “Uh oh. Do you think he and…”

“Absolutely,” Nurse Sheila said.

Tara shuddered. “Ugh. To think about those two going at it. Oh my God. I need to pour bleach directly into my brain.”

“Sadly, you’ll eventually get used to it, kid,” Nurse Sheila said.

The nurse hurried down the hallway until she reached room 798. She banged on the door. No answer. She banged louder. She turned the knob. The door was locked.

“Mrs. Nelson,” Nurse Sheila said. “Open the door, please.”

“Screw off, copper!” came the voice of a sweet, little old lady. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

Nurse Sheila closed her eyes, took a deep breathe, then collected herself. “Ted! Hey, Ted!”

Upon hearing his name, Ted hurried to the nurse’s position.

“Can you get this door open?” Nurse Sheila asked.

“I think I’ve got it,” Ted said as he fumbled through a large key ring.

Nurse Sheila felt water sopping its way into her comfortable shoes. She looked down to find water seeping out from under the door.

“What in the world?” Nurse Sheila asked.

“Got it,” Ted said as he settled on a key and inserted it into the lock. He turned it, heard the click, then opened the door.

Inside the room, wrinkly old Dolores Nelson stood in her petticoat, ranting and raving. “You pigs can’t just barge in here without a warrant! I know my rights!”

“Where’s Mr. Hogan, Dolores?” Nurse Sheila asked.

“I’m not saying another word until I can speak with my lawyer,” Dolores replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you that this nursing home has a strict, zero tolerance policy on fraternizing between residents?” Nurse Sheila asked.

“Oh stick your policy where the sun doesn’t shine, honey,” Dolores said. “That man rocks my world and at my age, I don’t have much of a world left to rock.”

“He’s got a heart condition,” Nurse Sheila said. “He can’t handle excitement.”

“What excitement?” Dolores asked. “I’m the one that’s getting the excitement. Where else is a ninety year old cougar like me going to find a strapping young, seventy-five year old buck who’s a virtual Rembrandt when it comes to cunnilingus?”

“OK,” Nurse Sheila said. “I don’t need to hear the details. Where is he?”

“Oh, don’t be upset with him, sweetheart,” Dolores said. “I know he’s got a bum ticker but really, there’s nothing about this that’s going to put undue stress on him. It’s like asking him to chew on a pound of musty roast beef is all.”

Nurse Sheila looked at the water building up on the floor, then turned her attention to the bathroom. She knocked on the door.

“Mr. Hogan?” Nurse Sheila said. She knocked again. “Mr. Hogan. Come out right now. We need to talk.”

Nurse Sheila knocked again. “Are you decent? I’m going to send the orderly in if you don’t come out right now.”

“I think he’s indisposed, dearie,” Dolores said. “He had a bowl of chili at lunch and it’s been giving him gas all afternoon. He’s been in there a long time. For a moment there I heard such terrible noises coming from in there. I think he might have broken the toilet.”

“You think?” Nurse Sheila asked in a sarcastic tone. She looked at Ted. “Open it.”

Ted fumbled through his key ring once more. As he did, Nurse Sheila looked down to see that the water coming out from underneath the bathroom door was starting to turn red.

“Oh my God,” Nurse Sheila said. “Hurry up, Ted.”

Ted found the right key and used it to open the door. He and the nurse entered the bathroom to find blood and guts all over the walls, a giant hole in the floor, a busted pipe, and blood and guts all over the walls. The toilet was gone and only thousands of porcelain shards remained.

Nurse Sheila was dumbstruck. “What in the…”

Dolores slowly moseyed on over and looked inside the bathroom. “Huh. Well, maybe it was more exciting for him than I thought.”

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Toilet Gator Sundays Continue…

Just when you thought it was safe to drop a deuce…

toilet-gator-book-1

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