Exceptional One man's nothing is another's paradise. Flushed With Success by Mystic Angel 7777 Objects of Desire? contest entry

Grandpa Joe sat at the kitchen table browsing the morning paper and sipping a cup of hot coffee.   “Morning, Timmy,” he greeted his grandson.   Timmy trudged into the room like an aged, arthritic man and plopped down on a seat beside him.   “What’s the matter? You look bluer than a pair of polar bear balls in the middle of a blizzard.”   “I’m gonna die, Gramps.”   “Funny, your folks never mentioned it. Kind of an important piece of information to share, don’t ya think?”   “They don’t know yet. I lost my cell phone and can’t live without it.”   “Oh, does it look like this,” Grandpa asked as he slid the missing item out from under the stack of papers on the table.   “You found it! Thanks, Gramps. You saved my life.”   “I doubt it, but glad to see a smile on your face. You know, Timmy, it’s not healthy to let ‘things’ become such a big part of your life.”   “This is more than a THING, it’s my life! I do everything with it. It makes me happy.”   “Maybe I can make my point clearer by telling you a story.”   “Not another story.” Timmy laid his head down on the table and prepared for a lengthy lecture in story form.   “Once upon a time, in an urban dump not too far off, there lived a lad named Bunged N. Trails. His few, so- called, friends him Bud.” “How far is, not too far,” Timmy interrupted.   “About one toll booth and two bridges.”   “That’s far.”   “Depends which direction you are travelling.”   “Which way are we travelling?”   “South.”   “Why south?”   “Because folks in the south are fond of a good fairy tale. That’s how the Clinton’s became so important; they could tell a good tale with gusto. Now, where was I?”   “Bud.”   “Bud had grown up thinking he was dumb. Make that VERY dumb, since that’s what folks kept telling him. As if stupidity wasn’t enough to hamper ones self-confidence, he was plagued by chronic constipation making life in general a misery.”   “What’s constipation?”   “It’s when you keep packing food into your belly, but it doesn’t ever seem to wanna come out again.”   “That’s why Grandma gives you prunes, right?”   “Yep. Prunes are a miracle cure. One good poop a day keeps your gut running AOK.”   Grandma walked over to the table with Grandpa’s usual breakfast of stewed prunes, rye toast, and a single poached egg.   “Hungry, Timmy?” She asked.   “Yes, ma’am.”   “Do you want the same as Grandpa?”   Timmy looked over at Grandpa Joe’s spread and grimaced.   “Got anything else?”   “I expect I could rustle up a bowl of Fruit Loops and chocolate milk,” she winked. “What have you two been discussing so intently?”   “Gramps is telling me a fairy story. The winged kind of fairy, not the limp wristed ones,” Timmy answered. To his surprise, Grandma snatched the newspaper out of Grandpa’s hands and smacked his unsuspecting innocent, young head.   “Timmy McAlister! That is a derogatory way to refer to a gay person and I won’t have it in my home, understood?”   “Yes, ma’am.”   “Now, where did you get that awful name from?” Timmy could see she was still really mad, he simply pointed in Grandpa’s direction. He didn’t want to risk saying anything that might get him whacked again.   Grandma glared at her spouse and then smacked him with the newspaper too. Satisfied she had righted a moral wrong, she left them to go fix Timmy’s breakfast.   “What does derogstory mean,” Timmy asked still rubbing his head.   “The word is derogatory and it means Grandma’s don’t like it,” Grandpa smiled.   “Just be glad the arthritis has weakened her some. She doesn’t pack the same punch she had in her younger days. Why I’ve seen her knock your Dad and your Uncle Bob senseless with a dishrag.”   Grandma returned with a big bowl of cereal and milk for Timmy.   “I’m off to Emma’s to help her hang some new drapes. You two behave yourselves while I’m gone,” she announced.   The two wounded warriors settled in to eating their breakfast. A few minutes later, they heard the front door close behind her and breathed a unanimous sigh of relief. It was safe to continue the story.   “I left off telling you about Bud. Being on the short side of mental capacity limited his opportunities for gainful employment. Be that as it may, he managed to land a position in the mailroom of a large construction firm. He earned enough money to live on with the added benefit of being able sneak off to the lavatory whenever he needed. He needed to quite often. See that’s the real pain of constipation, always feeling like you have to go even though nothing ever comes out.”   Gramps finished his coffee and carried their empty breakfast plates to the sink. Timmy took a seat on a nearby stool to listen as Gramps washed dishes while continuing the story.   “Bud was sitting in the center stall trying to relieve himself, as was his usual routine. The Yenta arrived to clean the bathroom, as was her usual custom.”   “What’s a Yenta?”   “A Yenta is a know-it-all female of Jewish persuasion. WAIT! Let’s not risk any more beatings. A Yenta is a know-it-all female of any persuasion. Anyway, she thought the room was empty and began mopping the floor. About halfway through, she heard several grunts and groans followed by a room shaking explosion. Soon after the blast, the room was filled with an aroma that would have turned a skunk pure white.”   “Bud finally pooped?”   “Sadly, no, just one more wretchedness that comes with the condition. You get so filled up with gas that eventually you erupt like a volcano.”   “Poor Bud.”   “The Yenta grabbed a can of air freshener from her cart and began spraying furiously in the direction of the offensive stall. Bud realized he wasn’t alone and called out an apology for the odor. The Yenta asked him if she could help.”   “Is the Yenta gonna be the fairy godmother or the witch?”   “Well, Yentas tend to be a little of both. Let me finish and you can decide for yourself. Bud left the stall. She listened intently as he told her about his problem. When he finished, she laid her right hand on his stomach and her left hand on his brow. After a moment or two of deep thought, she proclaimed him to be quite smart. His clogged up intestines were preventing his brilliance from shining. She told him if they freed up the one, the other would flow too. She had just the thing to fix his potty issue and asked him to meet her at the same time tomorrow. Bud was excited. This was the first time he had ever been offered any hope.”   “Gramps, no way does your pooping have anything to do with your smarts!”   “Of course it does. Look at Washington! They spew fecal matter all the live long day and are considered to be wise men because of it.”   They both chuckled.   “The next day, Yenta brought Bud a small tin of prunes. She told him to take at least two a day. When he ran out, she would bring him some more. Bud eagerly gulped down the magic fruit and returned to work. As the day wore on, he didn’t seem to feel any different. Deciding that two might not be enough, he emptied the tin.”   “I think that might have been a bad idea,” Timmy said shaking his head solemnly.   “You’re right, my boy. Too much of anything is always a bad idea, which Bud would soon find out. His stomach began churning like the agitator on an old washing machine. His hands began to shake and sweat poured from him in buckets. Bud raced to the bathroom to find his favorite stall occupied. He knew he couldn’t wait so he grabbed the stall next to it. Years of backed up excrement started oozing out in a thick and steady stream. Bud had to keep flushing to prevent overflow in the tiny basin. Success was complete when ideas began to flow from his mind. He couldn’t believe just how many had been crammed up there in his little brain all this time.”   “I still don’t see what one has to do with the other,” Timmy argued.   “When you have a problem, are you able to think about anything other than that problem?”   “Nope.” Grandpa Joe watched as the light turned on in Timmy’s eyes. “I get it now. Bud was so wrapped up in not being able to poop that it kept him from having any other thoughts.”   “When the damn burst, it cleared his mind too. Some time passed and all was good in Bud’s life. He started taking a notepad with him so he could write down his ideas. As long as the fecal matter flowed, so did the brainwaves. He got a promotion and a raise due to some of those suggestions which improved efficiency and saved the company money. Life was good! Of course, one thing he noticed was that only one toilet, the one that had saved him, produced the desired results. He investigated it thoroughly to find out what was so unique about it. Inside its tank, a gold plate read ‘Magic Flush’. It was a magic toilet! He had remained close friends with the Yenta and showed her his discovery. She agreed it had to be a sign.”   “Was it? Don’t all toilets have labels inside em?”   “Here’s the thing. Our minds are pretty powerful and can make us believe almost anything when our hearts are already set on our own personal version of the truth. Bud’s life changed while sitting on that particular pot, so it contained magic for him. Everything would have been fine if they hadn’t asked him to transfer. The company wanted to give him a management job in another city. Bud was devastated.”   “Why was he sad? Isn’t that a good thing?”   “He was sad because he would have to leave his magic toilet behind. He felt he couldn’t live without it. He wept bitterly as he told the Yenta about the tragedy which had befallen him. She was touched by his sorrow and decided to find a way to help him.”   “Ah, so she is a good fairy,” Timmy grinned.   “Late one night, three cloaked figures snuck into the lavatory and removed Bud’s special toilet. Yenta had developed a plan that would insure Bud’s happiness for the rest of his life. She had enlisted the aid of her nephew who was a fine carpenter and handyman. He had built an ornate portable outhouse to which they transferred the object of Bud’s affection.”   “So he was gonna take it with him when he moved.”   “Not really. Yenta knew they could not keep moving the frail porcelain around unprotected. Eventually it would break and Bud would die of a broken heart. The portable facility was to kill two birds with a single stone. It would make the toilet moveable, yet keep it safe. It would become Bud’s new office for the career upon which he was going to embark.”   Timmy looked at his Grandpa in utter confusion.   “I don’t understand.”   “Bud would get to be close to his magic toilet forever for he would be sitting on it all day long as he provided advice from his outhouse office. Yenta and her nephew would move it wound from fair to fair. Bud became ‘The Great Zoltare’ telling fortunes and giving advice for a nominal fee. He not only got to spend forever with his toilet, he got to show off his new found smarts daily. The three made enough money to live well. Bud was able to share his wisdom from his place of comfort and happiness. They all lived quite happily ever after.”   “How is that a happy ending? Bud sits in a box on a toilet all day long. He is missing out on all the fun stuff in life. Not to mention it’s not a real out house that will eventually overflow and stink like the dickens.”   “The toilet had been rigged to a removable tank they emptied regularly, like the one in my RV. This is the happiest of endings. Bud is with the one thing that makes him happy. The thing he could not live without. In his mind, he is happy no matter what anyone else might think. It’s just like you and your cell phone. You can’t live without it and it makes you happy.”   “That’s not the same thing.”   “It’s exactly the same thing. How is his always wanting to sit on his magic pot any different from you having that little box glued to your hand all the time?”   Timmy was quiet for a long time. Eventually he hopped down from the stool to give his Gramps a hug.   “I am gonna go for a walk, Gramps.”   “Don’t forget your phone.”   “You hold on to it for me. I think I can live without it for an hour or two.”   From the kitchen window, Grandpa Joe watched with a smile as Timmy skipped off toward the creek. Recognized Author Notes GENRE: Fairy Tale OBJECT: Lavatory / Toilet Definition of Bunged N. Trails: Bunged means clogged. N. Trails plays off the word 'entrails' which are intestines.

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