**Crucial Bidet Update** I think I broke the fucken thing. With my arse. "Yeah, loose washlet, we'll have to replace the whole thing. That'll be $1,000 bucks thanks, you fucken shit maniac." FFS. I hate the new bidet. And I think it hates me. It's so hi-tech that when you open the bog door the little wanker automatically starts making an evil snake-like hissing noise as it delicately sprays water in the bowl in readiness for my hideous depth charges. Also, a little light automatically comes on in the bowl undercarriage. Like the lights a pimpmobile has under the skirting. The abrupt hissing, in tandem with the vaguely satanic glow of the pimpmobile lights, scare me. Especially in the pitch-black of night when I'm half asleep and still half-dreaming. I actually consider it pretty fucken rude to get abruptly jarred out of my drowsy reverie by my own suddenly hissing, glowing, hateful dunny. "I paid $1,000 for you, you insensitive fucken shitface. Learn to read the air. I offered you a kind, warm loving home environment and this is how you repay my kindness? It's 3 o'clock in the fucken morning you rude c**t." At this stage I'm pretty convinced this new bidet is a bona fide portal into hell. Yep, fairly sure the bog is actually hissing at me. It's not like it sounds like anything else. It's like that old Stephen King novel called "The Hissing". Maybe the poor captive insentient shitface realises what I am about to do to it. I am literally about to shit right down its fucking throat. Or piss all over it. It's not like it's ever ended any other way for the poor little wanker. I'm guessing Steve Gutenberg was cast in the poorly-received TV-movie version of "The Hissing". I hope he died at the end. Also, the new arse clag jet is disappointingly feeble compared to the last one. "You call that Apollo 11? That's barely even a backfiring Skoda exhaust-pipe dripping upwards into my arse." #first_world_problems these days I guess. BUT the new fucker does have a power range button. Houston, we have Mach 5 capabilities. I am yet to ramp up the nitro to go full Saturn 5 Krakatoa on my bumkrak though. Need to stabilise my main man ramparts. For $1,000 that bog salesman thief-in-the-fucken-night should be here to personally hold me on the fucken thing and whisper sweet lullabies into the darkness as we explore deep space together and 'Ol Faithful hoses half of fucken Pompeii off my extended rings of Satan.