- Oct 10, 2009
- 10,747
- 12,049
- AFL Club
- North Melbourne
- Other Teams
- The Exers
these things
they cannnnnnnOT be true
they cannnnnnnOT be true
Follow along with the video below to see how to install our site as a web app on your home screen.
Note: This feature may not be available in some browsers.
So, I dropped my son around to the Ol' Man's on Sunday while we caught a movie.
A few hours later we got back and my son had a pained panicked look on his face.
I sauntered over, gave his head a ruffle, and asked him what was up.
He pulled me aside in an urgent tone and spoke softly, which for a 9 year old is a considerable effort.
I must say he had his concerned, serious face on so I paid attention. What could it be? Was the Ol' Man out of icypoles or something?
As we discretely exited to the study, the Missus disappeared into the bathroom with the words, "just going to use the loo".
"I really need to go to the toilet... I'm busting," said Jnr looking genuinely pained.
"Just use the Ol' Man's toilet," I replied, "you know where it is... it might resemble a Bali toilet but just aim and close your eyes"
"You don't understand Dad," he gasped, "I can't even do that".
My interest piqued at what could make him so disturbed and reluctant to use the Ol' Man's toilet, I pushed him further. "How bad can it be, son?"
"It's disgusting... scary... I don;t know what to do... you don't understand..." he whimpered.
Now, I recognised that look in his eye, the sheer panic of encountering one of the Ol' Man's idiosyncrasies, I decided to investigate for myself.
I had parental responsibilities, the duty to protect my son and to provide an explanation to the horrors of the world.
"Give me a minute, son," I said stoically, "I'll get to the bottom of this."
"Don't dad," he pleaded, "you don't want to see it."
Now, as you all know, I've confronted some extreme horrors at the hands of my Ol' Man, particularly in the bathroom. The Bum Soap, for example.
So I turned and walked back into the lounge just in time to see my wife exiting the bathroom wearing exactly the same expression of horror, disgust and sheer panic that my son exhibited moments before.
"C'mon Grizzlym, we need to make tracks right now," she said meaning business as only she can.
"Just a second honeybunch, I need to visit the bathroom," I uttered now completely intrigued.
She shot me one of those looks that not only kills, but also deliver a healthy dose of medieval torture too.
And with that look burned into my brain, I entered the bathroom very nervously.
And was confronted by this. This sheer horror. This thing that my brain, our collective brains, couldn't process.
WTF? I mean what WTF is it? What's it used for? Why? Oh why?
I quickly snapped this picture with shaking hands.
We then quickly exited the house of horrors. Drove quickly away. And quickly visited the drive-though on my wife's insistence. We then quickly drove home in silence while my wife sunk heavy liquor.
"My god," she uttered when we finally got home, "your father has a poo rag."
A poo rage. Savour that for a second. I bet none of us thought such a thing could exist, let alone in a linguistic sense but also in real life.
Unfortunately, upon examining the photographic evidence, and comparing our recollections of the bathroom, we all came to the conclusion that there wasn't any toilet paper. There wasn't. So upon running out the Ol' Man had improvised with whatever came to hand - a face washer.
And as if things couldn;t get worse, consider the stiff, molded shape of the poo rag. Which means they wash the poo rag after use, then drape it on the toilet bowl to dry out. You can clearly see how it has dried in the 'draped over' shape. (Mental note: never use the hand basin again.)
And it's not something they use for cleaning the bathroom or toilet either. The toilet brush is clearly visible.
So the only possible conclusion we can come to, and the only one that fits given his history - I tender the Yahtzee container as exhibit A - is that this is there designated emergency poo rag; the go-to when the toilet paper runs out.
My son is currently undergoing counseling. My wife is now drinking to dangerous levels. And I am but, as always, in awe of my freakin' legend of an Ol' Man.
Next time I'm out for breakfast I'm going to ask for twice shat eggs, in grizz senior's honour.Try being me.
Next time I'm out for breakfast I'm going to ask for twice shat eggs, in grizz senior's honour.
The man, the mystery.I don't think I've ever seen him eat an egg. I've got another story, for another day, about him mistaking the quantities in a recipe and overloading a dish with an ingredient so flavoursome and full-on that everyone at the table ate only dry bread for the next month. He munched on oblivious to the 'LSD taste experience'.
grizzlym was your old man's old man as weird? Is this a genetic trait that 30 years down the track grizzlym junior will be telling stories, or were you just 'lucky'?
Nah, my Dad's the black sheep.
Grizzlym jnr met my uncle - his great uncle - who is the Ol' Man's younger brother. He remarked to me: "he's so normal, like a bloke who digs roads and has beers".
In short, totally unlike my Ol' Man in every way.
Nah, never met the man.
But can assure you the rest of his father are as suburban and aussie as it gets. My dad 'aint.
I lost it here. It's like I could almost visualize the look on your missus face as she finally acknowledged the horrific conclusiopn her mind had reached."My god," she uttered when we finally got home, "your father has a poo rag."
I lost it here. It's like I could almost visualize the look on your missus face as she finally acknowledged the horrific conclusiopn her mind had reached.
The humanity of it all is epic.
grizzlym You mention "they" supposedly wash the poo rag and then dry it on the toilet bowl.
Who's they? Don't tell me your Dad's wife is in on it too?
bidet's are brilliant. i'd love for them to be a regular in australia. cleans your dot much more effectively.My old man has a hose.
It's supposed to be Thai style.
Here's a visual representation.