Switch

Room 106 just called, sounding distraught and looking to requisition the plunger once more. I was hoping this situation would have a happy ending the same way it did the other night--Steve located the plunger, delivered it to 106, he sorted out his own feculence, and I didn't get involved. Sadly, I was not as lucky this time, mainly because I was alone. So I had to go and find the plunger, but then I told 106 he had to come get it. (What do I look like, 1-800-PLUNGER? F**k you, do not answer that.) And he did, but not before treating me to various conversational jewels like "Somethin' is really wrong with thet terlit" and "This is the second time in two days I had to plunge it. It shouldn't be actin' up like thet" and "Ever' time my mama goes in to use thet thang, it doesn't work after she's done."
Okay, let me see if I have this straight--you filled the toilet past capacity with your own stillborn sphincter spawn, foolishly attempted to flush the lot, and then when the toilet understandably refused to cooperate, you blamed the whole thing on your mother. Tsk. Shame on you, 106. You're lucky I'm not her or else you'd be outside crying and picking a switch right now. No, not that one--put that one back. It needs to be bigger. Pick a better one or else I will!