The Homeland Adventure Channel

Welcome to our show. Today's episode dives into the realms of science fiction to explore and restore the well-known but rarely spoken of bio hazard waste and cleansing station (aka-the bathroom).

As always, before we begin, we must assemble and inspect our equipment, for you never know when it may save your life. Today's adventure requires a tested breathing mask and air tank, 3-ply (or better) rubber gloves that extend to the elbow, protective eye wear, snug-fitting clothes that won't get in the way, a screw driver, plunger, long-handled scrubbing brush (industrial strength is best), tweezers, pliers, a hacksaw (just in case), and various bleach or bleach-substitute cleansers in spray dispense bottles, rags, paper towels, or sponges, and at least one construction-grade plastic trash bag.

You may want to check your last will and testament before heading out, or at the very least, tell a trusted someone where you intend to go and for what purpose. Should you go missing for a few days, they will know where to begin the search.

Regardless of the house in which you reside, the bio hazard waste and cleansing station (hereafter called the b.s.) will be found behind a closed door at the end of a long, shadowed hall. Lights are often seen blinking on and off from around the cracks in the door at all hours of the day and night, but the wise and wary adventurer knows to never enter such a place without being first prepared. Affix breathing mask, eye wear, and gloves. Also, any long hair should be tied back, we are entering the b.s. zone.

The reek of wrongness hits us first upon prying open the door. Despite protective gear, it seeps through, pulling tears from our eyes and triggering the gag reflex. Be strong. Close your eyes and let your mind and body adjust slowly. Our first step into the b.s. lands on a spongy surface. Turn on the light. Check to make sure it wasn't alive.

Towels, damp and moldering, carpet the floor. The mirror along the wall shows no reflections, but do not fear--this is not urban fantasy and there are no vampires--it is only coated in grime. A special word of caution: if the toilet lid is down, be very careful when you open it. Arm yourself with toilet wand (the long-handled, industrial strength scrub brush) and the most potent cleanser in your pack. Lift lid slowly, and SPRAY, SPRAY, SPRAY! Close lid and wait five minutes. Flush and repeat. If your b.s. is equipped with a motorized venting system, do make use of it as quickly as possible. *Special Note: keep plunger handy and stand back in the event of flooding.*

While waiting for the decrustation of the toilet, open your heavy, plastic bag and systematically remove cloth debris from the floor. Notice how each layer peeled away clings to the one beneath, a special mix of hair, dust, toilet tissue, and secret ingredient x. Be sure to separate the tub toys from the laundry, for they do not fare well in the wash, rinse, dry cycle. They can, however, be zipped into a mesh lingerie bag and thrown onto the top-rack of the dishwasher if you are so inclined.

Beneath the terry cloth and robes, flannel sleepwear and toys, always be on the lookout for the perpetually missing rodent-pet. If it has been missing long enough, even the best bred hamster will lick residue from the b.s. porcelain in search of water, which may or may not spell certain doom for the creature (depending on toxicity levels therein). There is no rodent today, but here, behind the throne, we uncover the telling evidence of what happened to all the missing underwear. (Those of weaker constitutions may wish to fast at least five hours prior to adventure.) As we lift away the clinging layers of crust, we find lost toothbrushes and orthodontic appliances. Around us, a haze forms in the air similar to the atmosphere of the planet, Uranus, which combines methane and bleach in deadly proportions. In other words, time to flush again. Reposition mask if you feel at all faint.

Patches of floor are now visible, but do not be fooled into carelessness. Floor scum can be slicker than spit or stickier than an ill-aimed wad of gum beside the trash can. And speaking of which...

Time to look behind the curtain. Somewhere in the background, the theme music to 'Psycho' is playing... the veil parts and... try to contain yourself. The opaque pool of slime stems from the pit of despair, or clogged drain in layman's terms. Before tackling drain, be sure to sanitize a kneeling place along the floor, lest alien life forms (hereafter called Frank) cling to your clothing and spread to other regions of the habitation. When Frank is neutralized, utilize screwdriver and any other necessary tool to remove drain cover and begin plucking the long strings of blockage from drain. To effectively de-hair the pit of despair, tweezers or pliers, or both (along with good old fashioned elbow grease) will necessitate a two handed battle of tug-of-war to free all that is good and decent in the world. Or drain the tub, at least.

Hang tough, adventurers, we're almost finished. Remember to flush and repeat.

All that remains of the hard stuff lies in wait around the sink. Somewhere beneath a hardened shell of hair and body spray, amid the forest of unclaimed tooth and hair brushes, facial medications and herbal remedies, a pair of handles bearing 'H' and 'C' operate the indoor water supply. Frank is all over them. Be sure to spray thoroughly. If time is an issue, and if the full-body cleaning area has been detoxified, everything surrounding the upper-body cleansing station can be temporarily re-deposited to the tub. This allows proper scraping, spraying, and wiping of entire sink surface.

The cleanliness of our b.s. now compares to the public facilities of the corner gas station. Those of you who wish to quit, are justified in doing so at this time. The rest of you, gear up for an arm and leg workout as we spray the entire room down with cleanser--paying special attention to areas at and below waist level--and wipe with clean paper towels.

If, when you emerge from this arduous task, light-headed and giddy, a juvenile biped approaches with his legs crossed and panic in his eyes, you must decide whether to admit him or not.

I wouldn't. Looks like a Frank.