Once upon a time in a toilet there lived a very resiliant turd. Despite several days elapsing since the turd's birth, repeated efforts at flushing it into obscurity had failed.
The turd had been laid by Mr Pointytit, a bank manager from Barnsley. He and his wife and their two daughters had had to put up with seeing the bothersome thing every time they entered their bathroom, and it was getting beyond a joke. And as if having an unflushable turd in your toilet wasn't trial enough, some of the girls' friends had got wind of the situation and were picking on them at school. Things had to change.
Armed with a stack of newspapers, a bucket of bleach, a broom, an industrial drain pump and a small sewage works, Mrs Pointytit intrepidly entered the bathroom...
Tentatively she approached the toilet. There it was. The turd was making a mockery of her, and her family. There was only one thing for it.
Mrs Pointytit rolled up her sleeves and delved deep into the toilet with her bare hand. With her other hand she made paper aeroplanes for the children out of the newspapers she'd bought. As she grasped the dreadful excrement she reached for the bucket of bleach and had a huge swig... ah, that was better.
The slippery monstrosity was a demon to capture. It slipped and slid through poor Mrs Pointytit's fingers like a jellied eel evading the lips of a crab-infested Yorkshire farmer. As she patiently tried to grab it, she absent-mindedly swept the cobwebs off the ceiling with the broom she'd brought.
Finally, she had it in her grasp. Quick as a flash, she yanked it from the lav and brought it down onto the floor tiles with a splat.
The turd looked at her.
She looked at the turd.
Suddenly, and quite without warning, the turd flew into the air and flung itself full pelt towards Mrs Pointytit's face. Screaming desperately, Mrs Pointytit reached for the industrial drain pump... The turd was spreading across her face... she could barely breathe... as she grappled with the deadly faeces with her left hand, she unblocked the basin plughole with her right. Mrs Pointytit had never been one to time waste.
Exhausted, Mrs Pointytit collapsed onto the bathroom floor in defeat. The turd was pouring itself into her mouth, down her throat... she gave a last desperate gasp and carked it.
The turd worked its way through Mrs Pointytit's body and came out of her arse. It and the sewage works looked at each other. Between them, something magical occured. Birds began to sing in the trees, the earth felt like it was moving beneath them.
It was love.
They married several weeks later. It was a lovely day.