Broken Toilet Seat 1931

The wooden toilet seat in the bathroom of my apartment finally broke and I'm afraid to call the landlord. "How you break toilet seat, dumbass"? He'll reluctantly send his plumber up here to replace it, and another man just to throttle me.

I don't know how to handle a wooden toilet seat. Sure it fit real nice, and except for the splinters, I could fall asleep with my dinner tray slung around my neck, so snug I'd be. My cousin told me that if you look in the tank of a toilet it will indicate the date that it was built. In my last apartment my toilet was born 9/11/51, fifty years to the day before the attack on America. Of course the man who made the toilet then couldn't have known what would happen. Like now, we can't tell from our toilets what will happen in 50 years, or even 15 minutes.

But back to my current commode, I think it was built in the thirties, because it looks very sad and my shit always seems to look like Franklin Roosevelt. That's no comment on the greatness of the man, just that he, perhaps, looks like shit. Mine at least.

For now, I'm just placing the two wooden pieces together and dooing the best I can when I feel the need. I will eventually call the landlord. I can't hold it in too long. Who do you think I am, Richard Nixon?

joe