Oh No! My Phone!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Review Chain

Oh No! My Phone!


There was this video of a cat talking to another cat, kinda like they understood each other. One cat meowed here, meowed there, and the other one would meow, too, and the other went 'meow' again and so on. The video was three minutes long. A bit much, if you ask me. But they were cute, so I watched on.

At about one minute forty-seven seconds, I had to pee. What a bother. Why do people have to pee, anyway? If God was so smart, he should have made non-pissing people. Efficiency and all that. What a fake.

This waste excretion will not bother me, so I went to the washroom while watching the cat talking thing on my phone.

Stood over the bowl, pulled my dong, aimed, peed. And peed. And peed. God, this is taking so long. The cat video was almost over. I need another one.

I scrolled down with one hand, looking for a new video. “WHY YOU SHOULDN’T USE YOUR PHONE ON THE TOILET”, it said. I clicked on—

Holy fucking bitch.

I don’t know what happened, but here’s the thing: I hold my phone for like 8 hours a day. I hold it while sitting, with one hand, with no hands, while in bed, while masturbating. Sometimes I even hold it with my feet. But my hand, this fucking dimwit of a hand, decided that the best time to lose its grip is while I’m holding my phone right above the toilet.

My phone hit the inside porcelain, screaming brutish curses as it circled down. Actually, that was me shouting curses; I recall saying, “HOLY SHITBAG, DON’T GO IN THE CUNTPUDDLE, YOU COCKWOMBLING FUCKWIT.” My phone made a plopping sound as it dipped into the yellowish urine-water and hit the shit-eater’s base.


So this is what it's like. Like floating. Surreal. If real shit had feelings, I’m sure this is how it’d feel. I looked hard at my phone through the filter of my urine. Pissflap.

My life flashed in front of me.

Terrible timing. See, I was having excellent progress with this Karen girl from Tingler. Pretty face, great body. Zero personality, but great feet. She already told me she wanted to have sex. I obliged. But I didn’t want to sleep with her. I just want back rubs. If I had to have sex to have back rubs, then so be it. But no phone, so no back rubs.

Not only that, I also had to watch my favorite streamer on Glitch. And those sexy girls dancing on Kitkot, it’s not like some hot girls will just dance in front of me for free, right? And don’t even get me started on the porn.

But no phone, so no nothing. Bah.

How can I even pull this fanny flap out of the toilet, anyway? Or should I even? If I just flush the thing out of oblivion, will anyone ever notice?

Yeah, someone will. My broke-ass bank account will notice, that’s who. I need the phone. If I want it, I have to dunk for it.

I prepared myself. This is the greatest challenge of my life, just next to talking to women. I prayed to God. Did I say God was a fake? Well, I take it back. He’s real. I love him. I give my all to him. I betcha his omniscient ass is looking at me right now going “You can do it, my son.” Thanks, Dad, I need it.

So I stooped down and dipped my hand into the mixture of poison and acid at the bottom of the toilet bowl. It stinks. I held my breath and puffed my cheeks like I was underwater, but only the water was the stench of my urine, which, if you hadn’t caught on yet, I was dipping my hands on.

My fingers touched my phone. Clasped it. Held it. Pulled it out. I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to smell it. What do I do, what do I do? So the phone is out. It smells. So I take out the smell. How do I do that?

I opened the bathroom sink, locked the drain, and let it fill with water. Then I dropped my phone in it. I pulled it out. It still smelled. I drained the water, filled the sink, and did it again. And again.

At this point, I was like, this is extremism at its finest. Desperation makes people do radical things, like dropping your phone in water after dropping your phone in water. But do I have a choice? Why do people think extremism sucks, anyway? Clearly they haven’t dropped their phones in urine like me.

The smell of Jabba the Hutt’s armpits left my phone after eight dunks on the sink. It wasn’t working when I tried it. It was terrible. The worst day of my life. Needless to say, I wouldn’t bring my phone near the toilet ever again, even if it means not being able to jerk off in there.

I once saw this video that putting your wet phone in rice can fix it. Something to do with Asians being attracted to rice, they say. Maybe that would work.


Submitted: January 29, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Christian Jerome. All rights reserved.

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