Saturday, 26 May 2012

Terminator Toilet

It's 2029. Inferior British plumbing has taken over the entire planet. The world is a dark and scary place, where everything is black or white, hot or cold. No pleasant in-between temperatures soothe Mankind's suffering soul. However, there is a ray of hope: a guerrilla band of resistance fighters are bravely defying the evil burn-injury overlords, installing mixer-taps and ripping off wrist-breaking toilet flush handles every chance they get.

A Terminator Toilet is sent back in time to kill the mother of all resistance fighters, Sarah Connor.
The resistance movement counters this by sending a man of their own, Kyle Reese,
to 1984 Los Angeles (there's no accounting for taste).

Terminator Toilet, not being a particularly bright spark, promptly kills two people called Sarah Connor, neither of them the right one. Kyle, on the other hand, finds Sarah and explains that her as yet unborn son, the aptly named John, will one day be the resistance movement's greatest hero, wielding his giant spanner and striking fear into the hearts of the evil plumbing overlords.

Terminator Toilet finally realises his mistake and hunts down the real Sarah. She and Kyle manage to flee,
and, during a brief respite, hook their pipes up and fiddle with each other's taps.
Terminator Toilet finds Sarah and Kyle again. Kyle gets killed trying to blow up Terminator Toilet with a pipe bomb.
He was never an expert hand with the pipes. Rolling her eyes and muttering something about getting stuff done properly, in that way peculiar to persons of the gentler sex, Sarah crushes Terminator Toilet in a hydraulic press.
The evil gleam in its eyes finally dies.

Sarah, pregnant with John, travels through Mexico, tutting every step of the way at the state of the plumbing.
A Mexican urchin takes a picture of her, which she buys.
This is the photo that her son, the aptly named John, will later give to Kyle...
Stay tuned for the sequel, Terminator Toilet II: Bad Plumbing Never Dies; or; Hasta la Vista, Crap Taps.

Related Reading
Are You British? Does Tap Sanity Elude You?
A Note on Desperate Measures

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