The Angry Plumber and Other Woefully True Bathroom Calamities

About the Book

The Angry Plumber is a humorous accounting of bathroom misfortunes I have suffered throughout my life. Quite honestly, the book is full of shit. Indeed, when you boil life down to its very essence, shit is still going to be there, isn't it? Either literally or figuratively, we eat it, we breath it, and we live it! Just like the moon and the tides, shit is a natural constant. Hopefully, in some small way, this book will serve to gather and bind a special circle of people. Individuals who are not so bound by social norms, that they can occasionally enjoy time to laugh about a natural phenomenon; a phenomenon that seems to have speckled my life with some very funny moments. With my own mother volunteering a mishap from her honeymoon as a book chapter, I am certain that the humor in The Angry Plumber, will appeal to a vast audience.

About the Author

Dr. B.M. Krysis was born in 1967 in Norwood, MA. He attended the local schools, and quickly developed a love for science. In fact, it was only 3 years ago that he disposed of the baby shark he had half-dissected and kept in a jar of formaldehyde in his attic. If, in the near future, a third arm begins to grow out of his back, we'll know why!

Dr. Krysis attended a small, liberal arts college in Maine, majoring in Chemistry and Spanish, and graduated, Magna Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa in 1989. In 1993, Dr. Krysis obtained his Ph.D. in Chemistry at Cal Berkeley, and since that time, has made his career in the pharmaceutical industry.

Table of Contents and Excerpts

Contents

Introduction
Kindergarten Crap
The Unabummer
The Angry Plumber
A French Loaf
Saturday Night Feces
Angel Island My Ass!
Glossary

Excerpt From the Introduction to The Angry Plumber

Taking a dump! It's a natural equalizer. Imagine Bill Clinton, sweating in one of the White House crappers, screaming bloody-murder as he tries to force a shit-log, sideways out of his ass. "Hey, Hillary, were outta White Cloud, can you toss in a new roll?" It's not a pretty picture, but you know it happens...

You think Pope John Paul's never been somewhere in the Vatican walking around bow-legged, or leaning up against a pew, gritting his teeth to keep from soiling his vestments? I know he's the Pope, but even John Paul's gotta go, right?...

As true as all of this is, though, you might say it would be quite the faux pas to discuss, for instance, the length of your last shit the next time you are invited to dinner; or to ask your professor if he'd recently had the good fortune of taking a wipeless* dump; or to confess to your parish priest, that the 2 1/2 pounds of nuclear-wings you ate 20 minutes prior to coming to church last Sunday, caused you to limp out of Mass during the Gospel reading, and desecrate the rectory shitter*. Yes, yes, my friends. Sad but true. In such subtle ways, these behaviors are still rather frowned upon in our daily lives...

Excerpt From Chapter 2, The Unabummer

I do not recall Mrs. Wrenolds saying or doing very much (though I had wished that she would have collected Phil and proceeded to the nurse directly, presenting Phil for a colonoscopy, or some other manner of body cavity examination). Nonetheless, in fairly quick fashion, the class somehow became orderly again, and the lecture went on. Phil, as you may have guessed, was completely oblivious to, and disregardful of, the small hell on earth he had just created, a condition again attributable to Phil's home-life. (That is to say, in the middle of dinner, every night if he so chose, Phil could have farted into 50, police issue bull-horns simultaneously, and his parents wouldn't have batted an eyebrow. They may well have had to be taken outside for some fresh air to become coherent again, however, they would never have linked their momentary lapse in consciousness to their son and his stinky ass. They were both, as noted above, totally and completely deaf.) Over the years, with no one to chastise his flatulence, Phil had become hardened and indifferent:

Phil didn't have to fit those molds anymore. He had evolved beyond that dogma. He was fart-nouveau; and it took very little time indeed for his reputation to make him school-renown. Ted Kacyzinski had nothing on my schoolmate; Phil was the Unabummer. And secretly, many of us began coming to school excitedly each day, hopeful that Phil's alter-ego would emerge, and liven-up our mundane days...

Excerpt From Chapter 6, Angel Island My Ass!

Walking along the trails that covered the island, it was hard to believe that the vibrant city of San Francisco was so close. The lush growth, deep ravines, rock outcroppings, and flora and fauna of all kinds, had a mystical effect on everyone, making us feel as though we were some modern-day Swiss Family Robinson. Continuing our hike, the footing became a bit more treacherous as we neared the top of a hill. At this point, above and beyond all that we had seen, I knew that something big was about to happen; and it was completely unexpected. It was overwhelmingly unanticipated. It was the chowder-covered Dungeones crab, knocking at my backdoor with a Louisville slugger in his claw, surrounded, and being egged on, by all of his pic-n-peel shrimp buddies...and it had my full attention. I was in very real danger.

In a matter of seconds, my walk had slowed from normal strides, to hardly any forward motion whatsoever. As I watched all the others go on, my legs began to bow slightly, as I desperately searched for a tree or a rock to lean against. Thankfully, there were no war veterans on the trails with us that day. For had some Audie-Murphy-wanna-be caught sight of me, he would have instantly screamed, "grenade," realizing what I had become, and thrown himself on-top of me to protect his troops from the crap-ridden shrapnel that would have been exploding from my ass. As it was, had I not summoned all my strength at that very instant, I am certain that I would have shat myself into Oblivion.