Unbeknownst to both my readers, when not annoying people on the internet I maintain an unprofitable sideline as a paranormal investigator, a hobby which has on more than one occasion led to my making a complete and utter fool of myself.  I am reminded, for example, of The Case of the Missing Hamster, during which I was gripped by the unshakable conviction that my vacuum cleaner was possessed by the spirit of Fatty Arbuckle! My latest excursion into the darker corners of reality, however, has had a more pleasing outcome and concerns neither missing rodents nor outsized comedians.

For decades now there have been rumors about man eating toilets terrorizing the residents of Cleveland’s infamous public housing estate “Knee  Deep Gardens, ”  and it was in regards to this ongoing inconvenience that I was contacted by the inhabitants of apartment 2b to investigate the disappearance of their 6 year old son Billy,  who was last seen heading for a midnight wiz from which he never returned.

I staked out the location of the crime by cleverly positioning myself behind the  pot plant opposite the family’s toilet. And I ask you, where else but Cleveland would someone be so brazen as to grow pot in a place as indiscreet as their bathroom? A closet with a light bulb seems much more in keeping with social norms. But Cleveland’s drug trade is not what this article is about.

Unfortunately, a couple of hours into my vigil I grew peckish, and after eating several of the plant’s leaves with a nice Caesar dressing, I fell asleep only to be awoken at 2 a.m. by the sounds of someone hysterically screaming “Wake up, you stupid bastard!”

Alas, by the time I roused myself from a dream concerning Jennifer Love Hewitt’s breasts and a large tub of strawberry yoghurt, I was alone in the bathroom. The only sign of my rude awakening was a splashing of water glinting in the gloom, and a low, malevolent giggling reminiscent of a chipmunk who knows he’s gotten away with something.

It was at this point that I bravely leapt for the light switch and took this historic photograph, proving once and for all the existence of Cleveland’s man-eating toilets…

Immediately after it was photographed the porcelain perpetrator let out a loud yell, reverted to its protoplasmic form, and weaseled its way out of  a serious lawsuit by squeezing itself down the bathtub drain and making its way to Florida, where it was last seen preparing to run in the Republican primaries.

As I stood there, aghast at the unprecedented thing which I had just witnessed, I heard a muffled sound as of a bound and gagged toilet. It was then that I pulled aside the shower curtain and found, bound and gagged, a toilet. The victim, which identified itself as Fred, told me that this had been going on for weeks, but that since it is only a toilet no one has bothered to ask its opinion on the mysterious happenings.

Upon doing a head count it was found that the only newly missing member of the household was Uncle Harold, whose timely demise the rest of the family found no great loss as he had earned their scorn for his habit of stealing the tops off their muffins then selling them back at inflated prices.  As for young Billy, he was mailed back to his family three weeks later, postmarked Florida and accompanied by a letter which complained that the little bastard refused to vote Republican.