Sammy Sportface 
There I was, a creepy-looking cockroach, strutting across the wooden bathroom floor, minding my own cockroach business.
Then came blasting through the bathroom door some sumo wrestler-sized creature. In this monster’s belly, you would fit 173 cockroaches my size.
The most disturbing sight about this creature was, unlike a sumo wrestler, he didn’t even have the decency nor style to have strapped on a leather thong.
Instead, it was just all Johnson’s Rain Forest, drooping below the stomach the width of Wyoming. I got the vibe that he had just done some excruciating yet satisfying business in that bathroom and was feeling haughty.
Then he saw me, just an innocent, although admittedly disgusting-looking, cockroach.
Suddenly a tornado-like wind came blowing down on me. It was his St. Patrick’s Day green bath towel. He was trying to splatter me to death with one full swipe. What had I done to Sumo? Sure I was not supposed to be in his bathroom area but he could have just asked me politely to leave and I would have.
But no. Not in a compromising mood, he wanted me dead. The mere sight of me set off something fiery inside of him.
But the fat sucker’s aim was off the first time so I scooted towards the corner of a cabinet door. Woom. Another tornado of wind. He caught my backside. Wounded but not dead, I was determined not to make it easy for this blubber-ass to kill me. He’d have to exert some more energy and well he should to burn off a few calories that he so desperately needed to do.
Another whip. This one got me good. My back was smashed in but I kept my legs moving. He picked me up and put me in the sink where he started running the faucet. This really was a monster I was dealing with. He wanted to drown me after breaking my back.
His plan wasn’t smart. Stupid Sumo Johnson Ass. I was too big to fit through the sink. And I was squirming around enough to avoid drowning for at least ten more minutes.
I wanted him to have to watch me stay alive longer than he had hoped. I wanted him to feel guilty for having tortured me for no reason. I could tell the weight of the moment was wearing on him.
He went into the bathroom and grabbed a wad of toilet paper. I started thinking that he couldn’t be that cruel as to grab me with tissue and drop me in the toilet and then flush me away. But that indeed was his plan.
Wrapped in tissue, his hand came down on me, wrapped in tissue. This sissy didn’t even have the guts to pick me up with his bare hands.
The thought of being flushed down the toilet, especially after having my back split in half, made me think that I was experiencing the ultimate morning massacre.
One minute I was just running around some guy’s floor. The next I was on the verge of experiencing a more horrifying ending than anyone would ever want to fathom. I’ve had nightmares about my life ending this way.
I would rather just get smashed to death instantly with a hammer than be dropped in a toilet and flushed away. Just imagine how disgusting the rest of my afterlife is going to be. Eternity spent in waste.
But it was meant to be. Downward I was dropped into the toilet boil water. He flushed. I swirled around.
And drowned to death.
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Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:
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