All my life old people have cautioned me not to bust my Foo Foo Valve. If only one of them had actually told me what a Foo Foo Valve was I might not have ended up with a backside full of piles.
Ignoring the pain and hoping they’d go away didn’t work, just like it didn’t work for my hernias, sunspots, blurry vision and noisy neighbours. Still, I like to give false hope a fair trial before seeking professional help.
So recently I found myself lying on a small table with my pants around my ankles while a Doctor probed a particularly sensitive part of my body. “Um, shouldn’t you buy me a drink first Doc?” I quipped, but he’d heard that one before; about thirty times a day.
Anyway, after plumbing previously unexplored depths, the Doctor called his assistant over to have a look, then they discussed various options to tackle the problem. None of them sounded nice. And you think you’ve got a crappy job?!
What followed was a fairly quick, slightly painful, procedure and I lurched from the surgery with one aim in mind; to spend the rest of the day lying on the couch trying not to pass wind, for a change.
But, as is the way of the universe, I arrived home to find our sewer pipe had backed up. Staggering toward the shed I glared at the sky and muttered, “Wonderful! Fabulous! O thankyou God!”
Recalling one of the devices in the Doctors’ surgery, I whipped up a plumbing type contraption that quickly cleared the blocked pipe without busting my Foo Foo Valve.
It worked so well that I’m actually toying with patenting it, and I hope my BUTT (Blocked Up Tube Tool), will make piles in the future; of money that is.
