Flushing: The Tortured Life and Lonely Death of a Simple Country Plumber

The dusty confines of my underground lair contain nearly all of the components required for today’s Modern Evil Genius. I have the customary large screen device, on which I can make demands of world leaders and/or watch nude women on trampolines in high definition. The lair also houses the Destroyer of WorldsTM, a data network that consists of no less than eight non-working and four working personal computers and laptops running at full capacity, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to provide me with tools necessary to topple governments as well as view pornography from around the world.

As you might have gathered, there’s a great deal of masturbation involved in taking over the world. All of my seed is saved in Ziplock baggies, of course, so that it can be used to repopulate the planet with a race of super sexy egotists. But I’ve said too much.

There is one key piece of equipment needed assist me in the plot to dominate humanity that I currently do not have within the lair, however, and that’s a place for me to dispose of my poo-poo and pee-pee.

And so the adventure begins….

An evil lair is a tricky thing. It’s not like you can go to a real estate agent and ask to see the lair listings. So one makes due with what one can afford on an Evil Genius salary. In my case the lair is, let’s be honest, a basement. It’s covered in concrete and pink foam insulation, which is clearly un-evil. Unless you bash someone’s head into the concrete and then rub the insulation on his genitals. Which I have done.

The lair/basement in my current evil manor does not have the evil pipes in place to install an evil toilet. The members of the Construction League tell me that this means it isn’t “stubbed” for a toilet, which always makes me laugh my maniacal laugh.

The best (read: cheapest) option open to me was to invest in a special toilet that I could obtain through my local black market/internet. This toilet is capable of all sorts of evilness, in that it grinds the toilet contents through a motor on the back before shooting the debris off into oblivion. The toilet description actually uses the word “macerate”, which is frankly just the kind of terminology that makes an Evil Genius wet in his nether regions.

Shortly after the macerating device arrived at the lair, it become quite clear that I would need to acquire the services of a licensed and bonded henchman to install it. Obviously I could have done it myself, given my massive IQ, but there was an off chance that I would be dealing with poopy in some way and that kind of thing is more in the realm of Mad Scientist than Evil Genius.

After a very rudimentary phone search for a qualified henchman, I scheduled an appointment with a member of Good Ol’ Boy Plumbing, LLC. A very reputable henching organization, to be sure. Following an estimating and negotiation process, I welcomed him into my lair and explained the penalties for disloyalty and double-crossery. He was clear on my demands and we sealed the deal over a cool glass of baby seal blood followed by mutual maniacal laughter.

Days later, Henchman Jimmy, as he will be known here, arrived wide-eyed and eager to install the macerating device. Though he hadn’t seen such a magnificent machine before, he proclaimed, “A turlet’s a turlet”, to which I had no argumentative reply.

I left Jimmy to his work, as I knew him to be a Master Plumber from his notifying me of the fact nearly a dozen times. I had evilness to undertake, in any case, and hadn’t the time to spend looking over the shoulder of Master James. His arrival at 8:00 am had allowed him to confidently state that he would be out of my hair by noon. This pleased me.

At roughly 11:30, my hand had cramped and forced me to disengage from my evil activities. I decided that I would go check on my henchman, possibly giving him some evil words of encouragement. As I was about to round the corner to the waste removal room, I heard a sudden and alarming, “GOT! Dangit!”

“Problems?” I asked, poking in from around the corner.

“I been a master plumber for 35 years and I ain’t seen nothing like this before,” he stated, sweat darkening the back of his gray t-shirt.

“What do you mean? Is there a problem with the macerating device? Will it still macerate? SPEAK TO ME!” I yelled, vexed.

At this point, Jimmy stated with a snarl, “I think this thing is a piece of crap, is what I think. Junk.”

Well, Jimmy, we are not paying you to think. We are paying you to engage in plumbing and, potentially, some light henching. Thinking is for Evil Geniuses. It’s implicit in the name.

“What exactly is the problem,” I asked, in a menacingly calm fashion.

“Well, is this here some kind of foreign turlet? Cuz none of the clamps that came with it and none of the clamps I got fit it. I can’t tighten them,” he sighed.

“I’m not sure,” I lied, “it may be European.” I can’t trust him with my black market sources.

“And I’m trying real hard not to swear, so I’m sorry about the yelling,” he apologized.

“You swear all you want around this lair, my friend. This is a swear-friendly zone,” I told him with a pat on the air near his back.

I walked upstairs to the Manor House as I heard him sigh and slap the device.

~~~~~

Two hours later, SUCCESS!

Not only had Henchman Jimmy successfully installed the macerating unit, he had finished installing the water spouting apparatus as well.

“Looks like we’re all set,” he exclaimed. “Boy, that clamp was a bear. My boss just told me he had to install one of these once and it took him three days. Kinda wish I’d known that before I started.”

“If wishes were fishes, we’d have an ocean full of dreams, Jimmy.” Totally made that up on the spot. I rakishly adjusted my cape.

“Uh. Yeah. Oh, hey, I forgot about the lid. Let me put that on quick before I leave,” Jimmy gestured to the seat of the macerator.

Picking it up and turning it over in his hands, Jimmy’s eyes began to glaze and then harden.

Something evil was about to transpire.

~~~~~

“You ain’t gonna believe this, but I can’t put this lid on without completely taking the turlet off of the wall again. This is the dumbest design I’ve ever seen in my 35 years as a master plumber,” Jimmy said, incensed.

Is it dumb, Jimmy? Or is it genius? So few can tell the difference.

“Got DANG!”

I decided to leave Jimmy to his work and his thoughts and his rage. In my years of evilness, I’ve found that nothing helps to incubate anger quite like long periods of personal reflection. I would allow his wrath to grow and fester, as that is the best thing for wrath: the festering. And soon, his immortal soul would be mine.

And after two more hours, as I was making myself a lunch feast, it came.

“JEEEEZUS CHRIST!!” came the exasperated, broken scream from the lair below.

Yes. Yeeeeeeees. BETRAY your God. BETRAY HIM!

I rubbed my hands together slowly, face slack, except for a slight upturn at the edges of my mouth. I had practiced the move in the mirror many times, but it felt good to put it to real-world use.

Slowly, slowly, I turned and glided toward the staircase. As I descended the stairs, with a creak and a creak, I wanted to continue rubbing my hands together in a sinister fashion, but decided that I’d better use the railing, as tripping and falling at this moment would really spoil the mood.

I reached the bottom and peered carefully around the corner.

There was Jimmy. Shattered. Possibly dead. Facing away from me, kneeling, slumped in front of the device. He had sacrificed himself at the altar of the macerator.

I cackled in my mind.

I believe I heard whimpering and then a nearly inaudible, “doesn’t make any fucking sense”.

Yes. Let the darkness flow over you Jimmy. EMBRACE IT!

“35 years…” he trailed off.

All for nothing, Jimmy. FEED ON THE HATE!

Then, with a lunge, Jimmy attacked the toilet. Pulling and twisting it.

I walked back up the staircase, assured in my evilness.

~~~~~

An hour later, Jimmy had finished. A shell of a henchman.

“I missed five jobs because of this thing today,” he sighed.

“Yes,” I replied.

“If I ever run across one of these things again, I’m charging three times as much, I’ll tell you that,” he stated.

“Yes,” I laughed.

“I’m serious!” he said, as forcefully as he could.

“Yes, Jimmy. But for today, it is over. A piece of you has died today and for that, we have all benefited. The cause of evil thrives. Hail Satan,” I said, kissing him full on the lips.

“Mail Satum,” Jimmy mumbled, as his sweaty lips pulled away from mine.

Comments

[Pedro]

Amazing... just amazing... Now you need only one more thing... and that's to have sharks with fricken LASER BEAMS attached to their heads.

[Erin]

I just printed this post out so I can frame it and put it on the wall of my Evil Room. In the place of honor, right next to the severed head of Ulysses.

[suburby]

Sounds awesome. Are you putting in a banquette and a mini fridge!? (With the little liquor bottles, you know the ones!)

Super funny, once again. I should make a macro, so everytime I read something I can be all F7! Because it is always funny. Always.

[rob]

This post, I believe, is the culmination of Al Gore's grand invention.

[teahouseblossom]

I like that you paid Jimmy in kisses.

[snowy]

As a former Mad Scientist, I am always a fan of maniacal laughter and the situations from which is it derived.
I applaud you in your efforts, brother, and look forward to seeing you at the next High Council of Evil Empires Summit.
p.s. it's your turn to bring the p*rn.

[cc]

i loved this. absolutely loved it. you're brilliant.

[wlfldy]

I dunno. All of you evil geniuses kinda scare me...

[styro]

So does your evil terlit grind up and spit out your evil, evil poo?

[Scott-san]

I'm gonna put a stop to Evil. The next time I'm at the "Evil Lair," I'm gonna clog up your macerater with my Poo of Righteousness.

[TJ]

Nice use of the railing. Broken hips or stubbed toes are a completely different kind of evil.

[lolo]

I'm a bit sceptical as to the evil nature of your lair, for some reason. If that there plumbing device were a macerating bidet, now that would be some true dang evil.

[Brad]

Pure genious. I can not believe that you bought a poo-chewing shitter and hired Jimmy Never Change to install it! You really are evil.

And your obsession with toys has reached a new level. Congrats. If you died tomorrow, you'd win the race.... and Jimmy would stop by the funeral to skull fuck you.