If you're anything like me, you spend a few hours each week with your face
in the toilet, expelling the CaboWabo tequila, beer, and occasional burrito of that
night's recent history. Generally, this happens on Friday or Saturday
night, but the occasionally Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday session is not
out of the question (Tuesday is a day for prayer).

For years, I would wake the next day with the knowledge that the
sanctimonious toilet would need to be cleaned, and the difficulty and
disgust of this task gains exponentially with each hour of sleep. After
fourteen hours, you know that sanctimonious toilet is going to resemble
something seen only in horror movies and science shows.

For years, I would fight off my hangover with whatever dregs of liquor still
remained in overtipped bottles around the house, roll up my sleeves, grab
the latex gloves and generic all-purpose cleaner, and set to work with the
grit and determination of an Olympic shot-putter. More often than not,
additional materials would be needed to re-establish the john as
serviceable - including brillo pads, blowtorches, and brass knuckles.

The task was frequently Herculean, but with blood, toil, tears, and sweat,
the job would be done and the poor-man's Lazyboy would sparkle once again.
I'd always assumed that the rigor of cleaning is the price you pay for the
inexpressive joy of drinking yourself to oblivion.

Enter the toilet brush.

Maybe it's a result of my Irish Catholic upbringing (and inherent martyr
complex), but the modern miracle of the toilet brush was never part of my
household. I urge you people to turn-off the computer, head to your local
novelty store, and pick up one of these babies. They turn a two-hour
examination into Sisyphysian futility into a three minute chore. An
occupied afternoon becomes a cigarette break. The reconstruction of the
Parthenon as Lincoln Log Cabin.

Wielding my toilet brush like a gilded scimitar, the braying beast that is
the Saturday morning toilet becomes a slightly grumpy mule, offering it's
porcelain back in submission.

I have seen the top of the mountain...and it is good (much like CaboWabo Tequila).

I don't know where you can buy this miraculous contraption, for mine was a
gift. I imagine you can find them at the Tweeter Center or other such
stores filled with the latest in modern technology. They will probably set
you back a couple hundred bucks, but considering the amount of use I've
already received out of mine, and the hours of back-breaking labor I've
avoided, I'm sure it is worth it. Not since the original Gameboy has a new
invention so radically altered my life. Spread the word...so you can say that
you were one of the first.

Oh, and while you are at it, buy something really fucking expensive below! Just do it on a whim!! Come on, You Deserve It!! Buying the Plasma=GUARANTEED HOT ASS!