Twenty Sixth Kindling – The Roommate


our hero suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night.

he needs to urinate. he stumbles to the toilet, half awake. he aims his penis, with the best of intentions, at the toilet. he largely succeeds with his aim, but of course, he also largely does not. the urine splashes down on the bathroom floor – the sheer quantity so great, that one could not help but assume some must have splashed, dispersing the golden droplets towards his ankles: a gentle reminder that yes, you are human, yes, you missed this time, and yes, you should probably clean it up. alas, our hero is undeterred. such efforts are beneath him. and for one, the potential stench does not faze him, for he encounters such evils regularly in the confines of his own room. heroically, he stumbles back to that same room, defiantly shrugging off the faint remnants of his conscience. “to hell with them!” he rages. “and you know what? i ain’t flushing either!” and with that, our quixotic hero tiredly rests his stained ankles upon his bed and continues his nightly slumber.

–the next morning–

our hero rubs his eyes. he remembers that the bathroom smelled bad, but did it always smell this bad? he stares down at the toilet, at the clean batch of toilet water that reappears with the magic of every flush. suddenly, he remembers. “wait one second. did i not urinate last night? and hadn’t i declined the time-honored privilege to flush so that i could see that beautiful golden urine glisten against the fluorescent light again this morning? what is the meaning of this?!” and then it hits him. he has a roommate, a roommate that stays up during the odd hours of the night and probably had used the toilet the night before. then he looks down. he sees the golden stains streaking across the bathroom floor, reminding him of his heroic deeds last night. he shrugs. it wasn’t anything a dirty old bathroom rug couldn’t handle. he carefully places the rug over the stains, walks out the bathroom, and carries on with his day.


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