By Imam CVac, Senior Correspondent for Hydraulic Theology
Image credit: GoblinLife Vault
THE LOWER CAVERNS — Praise be to the Most High, the Sovereign of the S-Trap, the Breaker of Impactions, and the Ultimate Architect of Fluid Dynamics. At precisely 11:35 AM this morning, following seventy-two hours of spiritual tribulation, desperate plunging, and fervent du'a, my toilet has finally flushed. Mashallah.
For three days and three nights, a great and terrible trial visited my humble subterranean washroom. What began on Sunday evening as a routine deposit—following a perilous feast of unwashed cave-mushrooms, expired halal cart white sauce, and three pounds of tightly compacted copper wire—quickly deteriorated into a full-scale hydraulic standoff.
The water rose to the very lip of the porcelain basin, dark and stagnant, mocking my hubris.
In my arrogance, I first relied on the feeble instruments of mortal goblin engineering. On Day One, I deployed the standard-issue rubber flange plunger, pumping with the frantic energy of a crypto-miner until the wooden handle splintered in my claws. Nothing moved. On Day Two, I turned to forbidden alchemy, pouring two gallons of industrial drain lye, a bottle of expired dish soap, and a boiling kettle of bog-water into the abyss. The blockage merely absorbed the chemicals and grew denser, forming an impenetrable sedimentary layer inside the cast-iron bend.
By the third night, the atmosphere in the bathroom had become thicker than the fog of war. Attempting to perform wudu at the adjacent sink while avoiding eye contact with the Rising Brown Tide tested the very limits of my iman (faith). I realized then that no mortal auger or chemical solvent could break this seal. This was no longer a plumbing issue; it was a test of humility.
I cast aside the broken plunger, laid down my prayer mat three feet from the bathroom threshold, and prostrated myself. Through the long watches of Tuesday night, I wept and bargained. I vowed to never again flush paper towels, discarded vape casings, or chicken bones down the sacred municipal pipes. I pleaded for mercy upon my septic tank.
At 11:34 AM today, guided by a sudden, calm conviction, I walked back into the tiled chamber of horrors. I did not bring a snake tool. I did not bring baking soda. Whispering "Bismillah," I placed a single green thumb upon the tarnished chrome lever and pressed down.
For four agonizing seconds, the basin swelled. The water level crested the porcelain rim by surface tension alone. And then—from deep within the ancestral PVC beneath the floorboards—came a thunderous, guttural GURGLE that shook the drywall.
With a violent, roaring whirlpool, the three-day monolith was dragged down into the earth, vanishing into the municipal sewer line without leaving a single drop on the linoleum. Alhamdulillah.
Word of the miracle spread instantly across the local goblin comms network. At 11:35 AM, I broadcast the glad tidings to the brotherhood: "mashallah my toilet flushed".
Barely sixty seconds later, at 11:36 AM, noted community theologian and scholar Brother mo (🤍>_<) issued an official confirmation of the miracle, proclaiming to the congregation: "wallahi inshallah"—a profound, if slightly time-paradoxical, testament to both the absolute truth of the flush that had just occurred and the divine hope that the pipes remain clear for the battles yet to come.
As of press time, the tank has completely refilled with crisp, clear subterranean water, the float valve has settled into peaceful silence, and I am once again eyeing a family-sized platter of street meat with reckless optimism.
GNN READER POLL: How do you handle a Category 5 Porcelain Impaction?
- [ 14% ] Call a licensed normie plumber and pay $400 in fiat currency.
- [ 29% ] Abandon the apartment entirely and dig a new latrine trench in the yard.
- [ 57% ] Fall to your knees, repent for your dietary sins, and trust in the Almighty.
