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Want to cheer yourself up by wallowing in the misery of another human being?

Of course not. Even though it might make you feel better about your own lot in life? Gentle Reader, you are much too evolved to sink to such a low level. Only a person of subterranean character would find a tale of misfortune to be amusing.

Fortunately, I proudly possess a juvenile sense of humor. I am the man for the job to find humor in an exploding toilet. Naturally, our story involves one of our old friends- Florida Man.

Florida Man is a species of homo sapiens who is always getting into colorful scrapes. I could make a crack about the Original Florida Man: Ron DeSantis, Presidential Quitter, but in a superhuman display of self-control, I will not.

Would an exploding toilet by any other name smell as sweet? What is so rare as an exploding toilet? Let us count the ways.
If bathroom humor appeals to you, keep reading. Otherwise, do not waste your time on this column. Start working on your taxes. Considering the alternative to doing your taxes, an exploding toilet story doesn’t seem so bad, does it?


Once upon a time, and for once I am not making this up, there was a Florida Man named Pete. As was done in the Dragnet TV series, the names of the parties have been changed to protect the innocent. The ghost of Detective Sgt. Joe Friday, advises “Just stick to the facts.” And the facts in this case are pretty sticky, not to mention disgusting.

Return with us now to those thrilling days of Yesteryear, way back in 2022 when Pete Smith met his match in the rest room of a restaurant in lovely Winter Park, Florida. Initially, like the late great Harry Chapin once sang: “It was just an any old kind of day, the kind that comes and slips away.”

All was calm and bright when Pete, requiring empty calories, entered the restaurant. Little did he know, that instead of being like the Lone Ranger and leaving behind a cloud of dust with a hearty “Hi Yo Silver and Away!” he would be engulfed in a cloud of feces and urine when a porcelain throne exploded.

Pete realized the need to answer the call of nature prior to enjoying a donut or two. The cause of the explosion remains unclear. However, as surely as the sun rises in the East, it occurred. According to his complaint filed with the court, Pete walked out of the bathroom “covered in feces and urine.”

He had lost his appetite. Toilets are not expected to explode. Like a herd of frozen dead Teslas in a Chicago snowstorm, something went wrong resulting in an unhappy result.

An aromatic and soggy Pete staggered out of the bathroom. He was wounded in body, mind, and spirit. Toilet shrapnel covered in human waste is not conducive to having a good day.

Seeking help from the restaurant’s staff, Pete reports he was told “they were aware of the problem with the toilet” as there had been previous incidents.

Query: How many previous toilet-related incidents are necessary to be put on notice that a plumber is needed? Pete’s lawsuit alleges he suffered bodily injury, and mental anguish, requiring counseling due to his toilet of terror trauma.

This is a case for Attorney Jackie Chiles of Seinfeld fame. Jackie would advise Pete about the merits of his case.

“You get me one person who has used a public toilet on that jury, you gonna walk outta there a rich man.”

The negligence of the restaurant is a “clear violation of your rights as a consumer of a public bathroom. It is an infringement on your Constitutional Rights. It’s deplorable, unfathomable, improbable. It’s outrageous, egregious, preposterous!”

Jackie’s cross-examination would be a wonder to behold: “Did you provide the toilet or did they provide the toilet?”

Many years ago, I personally witnessed a toilet tragedy in Southern Pines at the Stoney Brook horse races. Some fratty bagger boys had been consuming an excess of alcohol.

One of the guys went into a Porta Potty. His drunken friends thought it would be hilarious to push over the Porta Potty while he was in it. Push came to shove causing the Porta Pot to tumble over.

Frat Boy came out cursing, covered on one side in blue Porta Potty chemicals and the residue from heavy use by thousands of race fans. It was one of the worst things I ever saw.

I have often wondered if they gave him a ride home covered in rancid effluvia. Like Charlie on the MTA, he may still be wandering the racecourse.

Now don’t you feel better about your own life? Things could be worse.

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