Dropping The Kids Off At The Pool In Hell

It is an unnerving experience evacuating your bodily waste into the depths of Hell, the only place this horrifying portal could possibly lead.

When I was 10 years old, a nun actually tried to describe Hell to me. She said that the fire would never stop burning me. She said that I wouldn’t be able to remember my family and that I would feel loneliness for an eternity. She said that the pain and torture would never stop. She said nothing about this horrible bathroom. Maybe she was new at describing Hell.

When confronted with this bathroom, my first thought was “Run to a church.” My second thought was “Just go in your pants. It’ll be safer and more comfortable.”

Not being able to see was the worst part. I pictured all of the pets I loved as a child in a heap at the bottom of the pit. I imagined a ‘Prophecy’ Christoper Walken perched over my shoulder, poised to whisper in my ear. Time didn’t move. The sky is a different color now. I am not the same person. I am broken. I am a fraction of a man. This bathroom took my innocence.

It can’t be that hard to make a bathroom. You need, like, 4 pieces of plywood for walls, some kind of roof and preferably a toilet and not just a circle cut into the floor hovering over Hades. Maybe put in a window to let in some natural light. At what point did the acid-saturated Architect who designed this space decide that he wanted to create a nightmare instead of a bathroom? Why did he so want the good people of Western New York to suffer? Put up a curtain!

This bathroom is within a 45-minute drive of you right now. While you sleep, it’s existing. When you’re blowing out the candles on your next birthday cake, the door to this bathroom will be slightly ajar, emptying the essence of sin, fear and insanity into the atmosphere. I think this bathroom makes people murder people.

I won’t tell you where this bathroom is because I don’t want you to see it in its natural setting. You’ll never love again. This bathroom is the source of all evil.

Also, there was no toilet paper.

Greg Bauch is the author of ‘Frank Dates.’