Published On: Fri, Nov 23rd, 2012

EXCLUSIVE : The Truth About Toilet Snakes!

 

Before I go, I always have to flush the toilet once, then lift the seat to make sure that there are no snakes underneath it every time I visit the gents. I blame this on the tabloids and a nasty incident when I was 11.

 

The nasty incident

I grew up in the country.  One day, whilst cycling home from school, I noticed a white pillow case by the side of the road, there was something moving inside it.

I got off the bike, grabbed the bag and had a look. The completely innocent, white, moving pillow case was in fact the dwelling of a FUCKING SNAKE, a FUCKING ADDER to be exact.

As the piss and tears ran down my leg, I looked the bastard in the eye, I could tell that it didn’t like the look of me. In a move that my fellow cub scouts would have been proud of, I launched the sack of terror across the verge and into the adjacent field.

With a sufficient level of psychological damage secured I quickly got back on the bike and made for the attention of my mother.  I had surely bagged a day off school after this trauma, hello chasing geese, goodbye vapid Gaelic lessons.

Daily Mail ruins life

A week or so later and with the local geese sufficiently terrorised I find myself in the kitchen, wolfing down some over-buttered toast.

Apart from shot putting the occasional venomous reptile and the odd argument with geese, country types are pretty normal. They do however, have an unnatural ability to source the tabloids, even though the nearest shop is 47 minutes away. Growing up, I often wondered if there was some sort of evil Santa that shits fresh copies down the chimney.

On my second round of toast, I began to flick through the freshly delivered pages of the Daily Mail. Page 8′s headline read- Whilst staying in a choice hotel, Alice Cooper’s snake escapes into plumbing, only to appear in Charles Pride’s toilet. In a projectile fashion the toast exits my mouth. The thought process goes like this.

- I hate snakes.

- I use toilets.

- There are aggrieved snakes in the area, that I know don’t like the look of me.

- If a snake came through the toilet whilst it was in use, I’d be locked in a room – literally caught with my pants down – with an animal that would be extremely confused, very angry and, possibly, extremely embarrassed. It would defo lash out.

-Best case scenario, I’d be left with half my genitals.

-Holy spitting python,

-I’m fucked.

 

For the next two days, I shit outside. Somehow, this option seems less snakey than the safety of a locked room. I hatch a plan, before I use a toilet I should always flush it and check under the seat in case it’s an ambush. This ritual continues for about two weeks.

The ritual always resurfaces if I’m in a hotel or somewhere a bit dodgy, like the southern hemisphere, or Edinburgh.

About once a year, the tabloids will run a story about a toilet snake and I spend the next two weeks pathetically lifting toilet seats. No seriously, here’s what happens if you search ‘toilet snake’ on the Daily Mail site.

This week, the BBC ran this. Toilet snake in Paisley.

A snake appeared on the toilet seat of a house not far from where I live. The snake ‘LuLu’ didn’t even need to use the plumbing to break in, it just shape shifted through the fucking wall.

Happy shitting everyone! I’ll be outside.

by Carswell

 

 


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