Cyndi vs. The Jetted Tub: An Epic Battle of Wills

*Note: This is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the terminally stupid. For the purposes of this story, the Jetted Tub will heretofore be identified as "Larry." *

Immersed in the palid half-light seeping under the bathroom door, Larry waited. Many days had he passed thusly, cagey with barely restrained rage and disgust. He was a Windward six foot Whirlpool with integral apron and left handed drain for porcelain's sake. How had ever been brought so low? he mused to himself. They'd done it again today. The male and female both in their turn, pressing their feet in his face, ignoring his luxurious depths in favor of the bargain Walmart shower head. A shower head without massage settings no less. Humiliation burned deep in Larry's plumbing. Soon, he vowed. Very soon they would regret this choice.

Larry's jet-holes squinted at the burst of sudden light. It was the female. Come no doubt to indulge in her pathetic vanities. Typical. But what was this? What was in her hand. Surely these were not cleaning implements. Those had better be for the toilet, he thought. Horror descended in pounding waves on his high grade porcelain. She was turning not toward the toilet, but toward him! And now she spoke!

"Alright you. This is long overdue," she said taking a knee before him on the tile, her yellow gloves glowing like the very fires of hell in the fluorescent light. Frantically, Larry's troubled mind scrambled to think. Long overdue for what? What could she possibly mean? What was the oddly shaped brush in her hand coming ever closer to one of his jet holes? "No!" he shrieked in his mind. "Something make her stop! For the love of porcelain! Please!"


His anguished cries fell upon the cold hearted tiles, deaf to his plight in their travertine treachery. The brush, laden with un-namable horrors was shoved mercilessly into Larry's mouth, then eyes, then ears. Befouled with muck long neglected in his pipes, it judiciously plunged for what seemed to Larry an eternity.


"Much better!" the female exclaimed, mocking his suffering. He peered up at her, silently praying she could see the rage and injustice in his eye. Feel my pain you skin bag! he implored. She seemed not to notice the waves of hatred emanating from him; instead she turned his plug closed and began to fill him with frigid water. Had she no mercy? No ounce of compassion? Could she not at least make the water tepid to ease his tortured joints and u-bends?

"Now, the British cleaning ladies say to fill you with water, then drop in a cup of bleach and turn the jets on." In her vile hand she clutched a smooth white bottle, measuring out a draught of the toxic liquid.

She's trying to kill me, Larry registered with shock. She trying to kill me. His mind fought against the chilly waters threatening to numb him of all thoughts. Think Larry! he screamed. Think or we will die! A single thought slithered across his frantic mind, his revelation registering with a plop. Turn the jets on. She'd said she was going to turn on the jets. Could it be?, Larry thought with elation. Was salvation really at hand? The water was climbing higher now. He felt his pipes beating wildly. Would she do it? Would she?

Her gloved hand broke the surface of the water and depressed the jet button. NOW! screamed Larry. Larry drank deeply of the bleach tainted frigid water and with strength beyond his experience, forcefully ejected it through his jets. Geysers of bleach and sludge erupted skyward, scoring a direct hit in the female's eyes. She hadn't even had time to blink. Glorious fountains erupted, soaking the floor and the shower head, repaying them for every ounce of indignity he had suffered their hands.

The female shrieked, covering her eyes, spitting the tainted water from her mouth, blindly slapping at his jet button with one hand, trying to plug his jet holes with the fingers of the other. She she sputtered at the awesome fury of Larry's revenge, his heart soaring upward with his streams of justice. With one last desperate push, she jammed her finger into the jet activator button.

The filth-laden stew fell earthward, Larry's joy crashing downward with its descent. The female panted wildly, soaked to the skin as she stood in the great puddle Larry had created. "That wasn't nice," she finally managed, eyes narrowed at him.

"I can see that we're not going to friends after all," she said, flipping the plug to drain him. No, thought Larry fondly. We are not. The water drained away leaving a scarred wasteland of pipe gunk on Larry's underbelly. Battle wounds, he thought, puffing with pride. He peered over the edge of himself and watched as she used towels to sop up the spreading filth on the floor. She turned back to him and reached toward the detachable shower head.

What is she doing, Larry wondered. What can she possibly be doing? She reached down and turned the water to scalding, pulling the lever to guide the water to the shower head. She was spraying him down! With the shower head! Taking away his hard wrought sludge, subjecting him to further humiliation.

"Yes, well. At least you're cleaner now, even if I can't use you," she remarked idly. Larry reeled with hatred. All this, and still he would go unused. Despair took him as she gathered her things and left, returning him to the semi-darkness. Just you wait, he thought clearing his throat of the hair wad gathering there. Just. You. Wait.

Larry giggled sardonically, allowing himself the luxury of a grin before closing his jets. Until next time, he whispered, drifting into blessed oblivion. Next time.


Hope y'all enjoyed!
Cyndi