[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

The Plumber

When I drive by Victorian houses with my friend Suzette, she always squeals in delight about how beautiful the design is and how friendly the paint colors. I smile at her because I'm hoping to cop a feel later, but inside I'm screaming at her. Those old houses are like beautiful young virgins with harpy, old woman heart, bone and muscle. Old houses like that are rotting from the inside out. They're made up to look real nice but inside they began dying ages ago. Lead pipes in the walls swilling water back and forth. Termites. Mold in the attics. Water in the basement. Disgusting.

I'll tell you right up front that I don’t do anything for free. It's true you don't always have to give me money. In fact I prefer you don't. I hate money. Money is sullied paper; you can't even use it for writing. It's a waste. Usually I’m looking for payment in kind, a trade of sorts, but I’ll take money when necessary. Like if I need to take my dog to the vet and the vet doesn’t need any work done, I’ll have to pay him, so someone will have to pay me. No exchange of goods or services that time. But normally I prefer to work on trade. That seems the more American thing to do; peaceful Indian and Pilgrim style like they taught us when I was a kid. None of this “true” crap. I prefer my Thanksgivings extermination free and I don’t care if it’s a lie. I’ll take a pretty lie over an ugly truth (stupid Victorian houses aside), and I always got straight A’s in my history classes so my teachers must have felt the same way.

My father says I’m a communist fvck, but he’s a fvck period, so why do I care? I love a hard day’s work and when I’m offered payment in kind, it feels more like a present than payment, like a big fvcking thank you tied up in a velvet bow. There’s no one who can do a job so well as you can, pal! I like it when they call me pal.

So that we’re clear, full copper re-pipe – no problem. But I don’t ever want to pay for a beer in your establishment ever again, and if your business folds before I’ve had my Miller’s worth you will owe me, and I’ll have that in writing. You won’t have to pay me a dime but your wife might have to agree to weed my garden for the next two years to cover your end of the bargain. Your garden always looks so nice.

I would like that, his wife weeding in my garden. She’s got a deliciously fat rump. I wonder what her face would look like twisted in pleasure.

I’m a good plumber and I will be compensated for my services. I’ll unclog your drains and I’ll pull out your nasty clumps of wet hair for an unseemly amount of money. It’s amazing the money people will cough up to avoid having their gag reflex tickled. Old Ms. Miles at 340 Lemon Place pays me fifty dollars just to unclog a toilet. I don’t think it’s healthy to be afraid of your own sh*t. I read somewhere that if your sh*t smells foul it’s because you’re not eating the right foods, and your body is slowly rotting from the inside. At its worst your sh*t should smell like moldy flowers, a rank bouquet. Stick your head in the throne and take a whiff sometime. It’s key to understanding your own health.

Another thing, check for floaters. Poo should float at the top of the bowl for a few seconds before sinking to the bottom. It should also be a light brown color and smooth. It should break up as it hits the porcelain bottom. If it is dark brown and bulbous, you need to eat more fiber. If it’s green, you probably drank too fvcking much with me at the bar last night. And if it’s black, you’re pipes are seriously clogged. You’ll need a good plumber. Someone who got rid of their gag reflex years ago by dangling his head off of a bed, opening his mouth in a yawn, and staying that way for hours. I read somewhere that this is how porn stars get rid of their gag reflexes.

I did some work out at a hydrotherapy facility once, you know, colonics. That was a big job. Too big for their bank account, I guess, cause when I asked them for a colonic machine they were retiring in exchange for my services they said no problem and we sealed the deal with a sweaty handshake. Her hand was sweating, not mine. The machine needed a little bit of work, but I’m a talented guy and I got that machine working in no time.

I’m a stickler about good pipes. Without good pipes, you’ve got rot and death, cholera and cancer. The stink of unwashed human skin fills the air instead of the smell of freshly baked bed or laundry drying on a line. Your plumbing goes and it’s like you’re living in the 18th Century again. Human stink can take the sunshine right out of the air. So it’s my advice to you to always go with copper and to always include enough fiber in your diet. Avoid cheap products like Drano and drink plenty of water. Properly maintain your plumbing, my friends, and the reward is in all the money and services you’ll save not having to call on a guy like me. We don’t come cheap, men of my caliber. I’ll plumb the sewers of your cities and bodies - it’s what I love to do - but I hear my exchange rate is turning positively Faustian.

Still, should you ever need me, here’s my card. You’ll notice my number is toll free.