First step in a life of commode crime |

First step in a life of commode crime

Biff America

I’m never entirely comfortable at the Building Center. My hands are too clean, Carharts too new, and my purchases too small. While the general contractors and tradesman buy 40-foot ladders and a bucket of ten-penny nails, I sheepishly pay for my foot stool and curtain rod. Rather than asking the difference between carriage bolts and pan-head screws, I’ll buy a dozen of each and see what works.

When we moved from a condo into a single family home, it became obvious how lacking I am in manly hardware. It seems like every cloth hook, towel rack and toilet paper holder requires a different type of screw, moly-bolt, or lock-washer. Each discovery of tool and screws deficiencies requires another trip to the store.

I’ve become so intimidated I’ve been sending my wife in to buy stuff. After years of me being sent to pick up feminine hygiene products, I figure she owes me a push broom or two.

It wasn’t until after every toilet in the house was clogged that we flipped a coin and I went back to the hardware store. I waited for the middle of the day, when most of the tradesmen were at their job sites.

Making sure all the items I wanted were marked, so as not to draw attention by requiring a price check, I set my three products on the counter. After ringing up my purchases of a “Swisher, high-powered Bathroom Plunger,” “McDaniel’s Six Foot Toilet Auger,” and a gallon of “Let It Flow Pipe Purger,” the clerk looked at me and said, “Damn boy, what have you been eating?” Luckily, I had the presence of mind to blame my wife.

My mate and I thought it a weird coincidence that as soon as we moved into our new love shack that our digestive juices became tepid. We never had excessive plumbing problems in our old place. It took only six days living in our new home for us to clog three toilets.

After some research and $45, I’ve learned that the problems do not lie in our intestines, but rather with the federal government. About 10 years ago the the feds passed a law that no toilet sold in America can use more than 1.6 gallons of water per flush. Builders and users alike have denounced these so-called “low flow” toilets. Yes, they do save water, but they also have the hydraulic flushing power of a baby drooling. There is no denying that they cut the water per flush ration of a normal toilet in half. But that feature also mandates that all that use them switch to a hay-only diet.

I’ve always known I was a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) person. It seems I’m also a NIMBR (Not In My Bath Room) person, too. I’ve found that if you don’t mind breaking the law, there are alternatives.

Just over this country’s borders in Canada and Mexico there are plenty of high flow (5.2 gallons a flush) commodes that can had for the right price. As I left the Building Center, a toilet bootlegger approached me. He saw me leaving with the three-pack of declogging products.

He walked up and whispered, “Hey man, want to buy a toilet?”

“What do you got?” I asked.

“Keep your voice down.” he said, “The cops are everywhere. I have a seven-gallon Mexican white porcelain. This baby kicks butt. You could flush a Rottweiler down with one of these things.”

We walked to his truck. The back was filled with contraband.

“Where you get this stuff?” I asked.

“Drove it through Customs myself. Pot, coke, speed is deader than fried chicken. The big money is in hot crappers.”

The gun freaks like to say that if guns are outlawed, only the criminals will have guns. The same thing could be said for toilets. I consider my purchase an act of civil disobedience. I’m breaking an unjust law and willing to pay the consequences.

Like many of the great martyrs, I’ll suffer punishment or prison for the strength of my beliefs. I’ll be like Ghandi, Mandella, Thoreau, and Joan of Arc, only different.

History will remember that “Biff America suffered for his convictions so that others could flush with confidence.”

Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of “Biff America” can be seen on RSN television, heard on KYSL radio, and read in several mountain publications. He lives in Breckenridge

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