The Day I Found Porn In My Roof

Still unsure whether this is the best story with which to introduce myself onto the blogging scene, I shrug and think, "Why not? Isn't cyberspace the perfect place to confess our embarrassing anecdotes, reveal our secret desires or regrets and give voice to our less charitable thoughts and feelings? What harm can come from a cathartic unburdening under the relative anonymity of an obfuscated identity?" Well, we'll see.

First let me say, before any other clever-dick ejaculates with excitement over being the first to post a comment stating the blandly obvious, YES, I KNOW IT WAS LAUGHABLY IGNORANT OF ME TO LOOK FOR WHAT I DID, WHERE I DID. I flatter myself I'm not a complete moron, and that this was an (albeit not isolated) lapse in common sense. Okay. Now we can move on.

Five years ago, when Mr. Lonie and I were still renting, the shower suddenly went Exorcist on me. Alright, so there was no levitating or profanity (except from me), but the shower did start spontaneous projectile watering and wouldn't stop.

Of course, Mr. Lonie was interstate and incommunicado, as he always seems to be when such domestic crises occur, and up until that moment the water mains had been to me as the best spot to stab a pen in one's throat for an emergency tracheotomy - I knew it was around somewhere, but hadn't thought to locate it precisely as long as everything was working alright. So with dozens of litres of water running wastefully down the drain and me due at work in twenty minutes, I scampered around outside looking for the mains, with no success. My common sense on this occasion being inversely proportional to my desperation, I then had a brainwave, a seeming recollection that some houses have mains taps in the roof. Yes, the roof. (Please see the caps-locked prefacing remark).

Quick! Manhole's in the laundry. Aagh! No ladder, and even standing on the washing machine I have no hope of pulling myself up. What to do, what to do? Guilt at wasting water in the driest inhabited continent on Earth blocks more of the sense-conducting synapses. I know! I can climb from the washing machine, onto the fridge, and up through the manhole! Race to the garage where our old fridge is relegated. Hmm. Big fridge. Step to climb. Length of whole house to move. Little 152 cm me.

I don't know how, but I managed it without dying in a whitegoods-crushing incident. Needless to say, when I finally clambered up into the roof, searching with rapidly diminishing hope for a mains tap, stopcock, anything, I found none.

The story of this particular folly ends soon after with my sheepish discovery of the mains tap right outside my bedroom window, not two metres from the front door. BUT, the unexpected stash I found upon climbing into the manhole makes a lovely gloss over that whole embarrassing morning.

Porn videos. Now I know some of you are probably smiling knowingly to yourselves and thinking, "Ah, so Mr. Lonie moonlights in a one-man band," but I can assure you, these did not belong to him.

"Poor, naive Lonie," you say as you shake your head sadly.

No, really. They were covered in dust, obviously hidden long before we moved in, and besides, Mr. Lonie's tastes are a bit whitebread, while these videos were THE FREAKIEST PORNOS THIS SHELTERED LITTLE SAUSAGE HAD EVER SEEN!

I confess, I watched Horny Harry's Excuse Me!, which is pretty mainstream as far as pornos go, I guess, but patently I'm not in Harry's target demographic, because all I kept thinking was, "No, innocent young girl encountered by chance on the street! Don't go off alone to the room of a strange man offering small change to view your pink bits!" And the others? It only took a few seconds' viewing of outrageous prosthetic foot-long nipples, multiple man-mammae and androgynous genitalia to sate the morbid curiosity aroused by titles like Big Dick She-Males and Freaks of Nature.

Soon after, Mr. Lonie quietly consigned my prurient's treasure to the rubbish bin. While I don't miss those products of possibly unhealthy and probably unsavoury minds, they did open my eyes to a whole new world. I like to think that somewhere out there is a blog entry entitled 'The Day I Found Porn At The Dump.'