ScareBnB
The Gulf was out. John insists the ocean is filled with “homosexuwhales” that’ll look at your peen…
Article written and illustrated by Scott Thigpen, edited by Heather
Theodore, Alabama (home of WWF great, The Paul Bearer )—Folks down at the grocery store formerly known as the Food Tiger are still talking about John K. Mode’s bladder incident at the Airbnb down at Dauphin Island.
John (53), which he reminds everyone is “too young for Depends, too old to trust a hiccup,” rented an Airbnb down on Dauphin Island, famous for its Sea Lab and its lack of coffee shops. After a day roasting on the beach with his family and working through his 496-oz water bottle, his bladder told the wrinkly part of his brain that it was time to “shake hands with the governor.” This meant two options: make a bee-line to the Airbnb…or relieve himself in the Gulf.
The Gulf was out. John insists the ocean is filled with “homosexuwhales” that’ll look at your peen while you’re trying to take a leak discreetly underwater.
Naturally, he chose the Airbnb. After a trek that felt longer than the Appalachian Trail, he hit the door and found that his daughter had converted the downstairs bath into a production studio. She was filming a TikTok about a new makeup she got down at the sale. Sadly, her content had gone stagnant, so she decided to spice things up by unbuttoning the top button of her bathing suit to get more likes and follows. Meanwhile John, now feeling like the blueberry kid in Willy Wonka, made a dash for the second bathroom, up two flights of stairs.
As he attempted to sprint up the steps, he tripped over the cat, Cresthbalt, and sprained his ankle before making it to the fourth step. Bladder now at Amber Alert,with the cat hissing, John finally reached the upstairs lavatory, slammed the door, went to turn on the light—and discovered the switch was mounted outside.
What followed was not relief. It was more like a fire hose that had gone rogue. Later, his wife—evaluating the drywall that his “refundable” deposit would now replace—said this was not what she meant by “make it rain.”
John called Airbnb to demand all rentals relocate the bathroom light switches to “inside the gotdamn bathroom”. Airbnb transferred him to the owner, the owner transferred him to the contractor, the contractor transferred him to “the DUI hire, Carl,” and Carl hasn’t sobered up enough to pass the blame yet.
John swore he’d never make this mistake again. Then not two weeks later he was hospitalized after “holding it” all the way through a fishing trip. Doctors said his bladder was bloated like a dead cow in a Texas August heatwave—fermenting gas until the hide goes tight and explodes.
From Thig
Hi all. Last week was a doozy. We lost our cat to heart failure, just six weeks after my pup died of cancer. They were both twelve and the best two animals I’ve ever had the privilege of being owned by.
I'm not sure worried about the "homosexuwhales" as I am about the sponges and starfish...
Oh no! My condolences. That's rough, losing two housemates so shortly after each other. I'll think of something comforting to say once I'm done remembering how much that hurts.