Anthony and I had been exchanging practical jokes.  They escalated
until we called a truce.  Anthony told me that if I broke the truce,
whatever I did to him he would do back to me, but 1000 times (or
similar phrasing).  So, I cleaned his bathroom.  This impractical joke
took several days and was done while Anthony was away.  For years
Anthony had been known for having the dirtiest, most disgusting
bathroom in Philadelphia.

The following is my diary of the events.  Disclaimer:  The following
contains graphic violence, obscenities, and scrubbing.

	*** Day 1:  The initial encounter

I couldn't face it alone so I brought Craig along.  He carried the
camera to document the encounter.  I was armed with poisonous sprays,
just in case.  Craig entered first.  I was impressed with his bravery.
Many men would simply break down and cry or run off screaming.  Many
men have.  Craig, however, didn't even flinch.  He was the motivation
I needed to go on.

The light hardly reflected from the dull, dingy surfaces.  The stench
was almost enough to bring up my dinner, but I suppressed those
reflexes for I knew that what lay ahead was ten, no one hundred times
worse.  I knew that I would need every ounce of strength I had to face
it.  That horror of horrors, known far and wide for its vile, putrid
surfaces.  One touch would instantly destroy all but the strongest of
will.

To this day I have difficulty recalling the emotions I experienced
when I first set eyes upon it.  I wanted to yell, but no sound would
issue from my mouth.  I wanted to run, but I was frozen with terror.
I watched Craig's face drain of all color as he saw it too.  At long
last, the object of our search was there, immediately in front of us.
We stood face to face with Anthony's tub.

	*** Day 2:  Preparations

I knew what had to be done.  I sprayed two full cannisters of poisonous
gas at it.  The room filled with the smells of chlorine and
flatulence.  It was a welcome change.  As I was leaving to let the
poisons weaken the beast overnight I noticed the blood oozing from
between the tiles.  How anyone could have developed a symbiotic
relationship with so foul a creature is beyond me.  Perhaps I have
misjudged the British.  Perhaps I will see Anthony differently in the
future.  As long as I don't have to see his toes...

	*** Day 3:  I'm going in

Despair.  What would possess an otherwise abnormal, but seemingly sane
individual to rub his feces on the wall?

I wonder if there's a market for sweaters made of used pubic hair.  I
have enough material to knit five.

	*** Day 4:  Facing the nightmare again

The temperature is 50F in the apartment.  I'm freezing and there's no
hot water!  The bastard must have turned it off.  I have frostbite in
several fingers and the cleaning fluids have turned my hands into dry
bloody stumps.

Something bit me on the ankle today.  So far I haven't detected any
side-effects.

I can't decide which is more pathetic.  The one who figures out a way
to coat his ceiling with urine, or the one who cleans it.

I've found several gelatinous masses near the sink.  They appear to be
partially dried globs of mucus.  At least I'm hoping that's what they
are.  I wouldn't care to speculate on the alternatives.  He may be
lonelier than we thought.