Over the past few months, I've found myself getting used to my boss's atomic defecations. Like repeated torturing, after a while the victim becomes desensitized to the point of rendering it ineffective. So today, when he went into the bathroom, I just sighed, and
resigned myself to inhaling another cocktail of unearthly isotopes that will surely shave several more hours off of my already greatly reduced life expectancy.

After the vile anal expectoration was complete -- which I tried to diffuse by hovering over the cat urine-infested machine I was repairing, I waited for the clink-and-whoosh that would signal the end of the poisonous nasal assault. But instead of the clink-and-whoosh, I only heard a clunk. And another clunk. And then an "Oh, damnit". He then emerged from the hapless abode, and said "Rich, I need you to run to Home Depot, and get a new flusher thingy. This one busted."

Flusher Thingy? Mmmkay. Off to Home Depot.

I purchased the most heavy-duty... flusher thingy... they had. I may have aroused some concern with the worker that assisted me, when I asked if the material remained stable in a subatomic particle accelerated medium.

Upon returning to the store, I had a terrifying realization. Now, I've broken the... flusher thingy... on my own toilets a couple of times. You can still flush the toilet, by taking the back cover off, and pulling the chain up. Did my boss have the werewithal, or just plain common freakin' courtesy, to do this? Just kill me now, and get it over with...

I prepared myself. I figured that I had about 25-30 seconds of useful consciousness once I entered the bathroom, which should be enough time to take the back cover off, pull the chain, and then go to work. Once the toilet was flushed, the meager fan would eventually
reduce the potent potpourri to a non-lethal level. After a few seconds of hyperventilating, to purge my system of CO2 and increase my chances of survival, I held my breath, and opened the door...

The first thing I noticed was the heat. It was at least 30 degrees warmer inside the bathroom than outside. I can only assume that the festering dump was somehow decomposing and creating an exothermic reaction. I pulled the back cover off, yanked the chain, and
watched in horror as the toilet clogged, sending the water level (and Polonium poop) just under the rim before I shut the water off.

This was too much. I ran outside, out the back door, and nearly did a dead-on impression of Donovan McNabb showing a new flavor of Chunky Soup. While outside, however, I heard the inmistakable, and welcome, whooshing sound of the water finally rushing down, taking the volatile poop with it.

Were it not for the fact that I had just received a titanic Christmas bonus, I would be searching for a safer, less stressful job... such as a plumber at Chernobyl.