One Hunded Ninety Two Dollars & F*ck You Cents

As if the indignity of cleaning up a soupy mix of aromatic sewage and funktified kitchen sink detritus wasn't enough, the plumber told me on several occasions yesterday that he wasn't sure what was happening, as if our mess was somehow so obscene that he'd never encountered anything like it before.

My ears are still ringing with the sound of the metal snake howling its way through our old pipes, the hum frequently interrupted with what sounded like an intestinal death moan. The sensation of liquid bursting up and through my toes from the soaked carpet keeps me from truly being able to eat more than a few bites at a time. The upside, and as god is my witness there will be an upside to yesterday's shit fest, is that the bathroom and kitchen are cleaner than ever before. I scrubbed the toilet, inside and out. Washed the walls (yes, it really went up that high in some areas), mopped the floors over and over again and used a knife to clean out little unreachables. I even scoured the louvred doors just outside the bathroom.

And with the following grainy, nasty, humbling photos I'll close the chapter on this experience. That is of course until the next time it happens.