Have you ever noticed the eccentric toilet habits of humans? I supposed that being one yourself you probably take it for granted. But look at it from a guinea pig's perspective. We just poo wherever we want and let someone else worry about cleaning it up. Yes indeed, we just wander around making a noise that sounds a lot like a squeaky bicycle wheel. Guinea pig text books insist that this sound means we are just being inquisitive. This is rubbish of course. We're actually saying to ourselves "Now then, let me think. Where can I poo that makes it really hard for my staff to get at it. Ah yes, I know. I'll just drop a little pile here and then kick it under the piano." If, as is often the case we can't be bothered trudging all across the room to the piano we'll just deposit our load of magic beans in the middle of the room and hope that our staff don't notice them until the morning when they come down barefoot from the bedroom and tread in something cold and squishy. You humans should try it. It really wakes you up in the morning - gets you going, sets you up for the day.
Frankly I don't understand why you humans don't do the same; just poo wherever you like and wait for someone else to clean it up. Having said that, my male staff tells me that there are some places in the world that actually do that. Many years ago he took a very long walk (we're talking several days) along the eastern beaches of peninsular Malaysia. It was a time of new found prosperity for the country and some people had skewed priorities when it came to the important things in life. Wherever there was a little seafront kampong (village) the beach was a minefield of human poo. The locals would just wander down to the water's edge, squat and do their business. Some of them would even take a newspaper with them - seriously. My male staff had to be very careful where he put his size twelve feet and was forced to make long detours around squatting locals. And yet these same locals would have a new Mercedes Benz or Audi sitting in front of their tumbledown, tin-roofed, running water-free shack. Who needs a flushing toilet when you can have a shiny new German car instead? There were always a lot of flies around the beach adjacent to the kampongs and my male staff really hated it when they would land on his lips.
The problem with pooing in or close to the sea (apart from the danger of sitting on a sea urchin), is the tide. Yes the tide takes your poo away with it, but only temporarily. In a few hours time it brings it back, and even if you have a nice little tidal sweep happening on your bit of beach, your kampong's poo might disappear a few miles down the coast, but it will be replaced by the poo from the next village along from yours, so in the end everyone's poo just gets mixed up and you have no idea who's poo you are stepping in as you stroll down to the surf, newspaper, under your arm, a mug of coffee in one hand and a toilet roll in the other to do your business. The situation is not ideal as you can plainly see.
Anyway, never mind all that. The fact is that my staff and all the humans I've ever seen visit them prefer to disappear into a small room containing a strange ceramic bowl to deposit their droppings. I willingly throw up my furry little paws and admit that I have no idea why they do this. It's very selfish for one thing, for it deprives others the pleasure of sniffing their friends' droppings and rolling them around the floor with their noses the way more highly evolved creatures, like guinea pigs for example do.
Apparently there's a plastic seat on the ceramic bowl to make it more comfortable for humans to park their ample butts on. On my staff's ceramic bowl this seat had somehow worked its way loose (Something to do with one of the re-enforcing titanium bolts snapping under the constant strain I believe.) and this caused the seat to slip and slide alarmingly whenever anyone sat on it. And so after much nagging from my female staff, my male staff went to the local hardware shop and purchased a brand new seat. "Tool free installation" the packaging proudly proclaimed and this worried my male staff because he is the first to admit that he is a complete tool when it comes to installing things. Nevertheless he took the thing home and without too much fuss dismantled the old broken one and tossed it into the dustbin. Then he got distracted by a phone call and forgot all about the new toilet seat. A couple of hours later nature called and he hurried to the little room. To his dismay he was confronted by a ceramic bowl and no seat. The new seat was propped at a mockingly jaunty angle against the wall, still in its plastic wrapping. "Shit!" Exclaimed my male staff appropriately. Still, he'd have to make do. There was no time to install the new seat. For him, a job like that could take four or five hours and possibly two or three trips back to the hardware shop either for further instructions or a replacement seat, the original one having been hurled against the wall and smashed to pieces in a fit of pique.
So, he tentatively sat down on the ceramic bowl. (Having first pulled down his trousers and underpants you'll be relieved to hear.) It was particularly cold and uncomfortable so he was pretty quick in doing what had to be done, and then he saw that there was no toilet paper on the holder, so he reached back to where the spare ones were kept in a basket. This sudden movement (If you'll pardon the unfortunate expression.) caused my male staff's right buttock to lose its grip on the slippery ceramic and it, closely followed by the left buttock plunged deep into the depths of the bowl and there they stuck, wedged firmly. Stunned, my male staff sat there for a moment trying to regain his somewhat elusive wits. He wiggled his legs, but they could no longer reach the floor to gain any purchase. He tried pushing himself up on the toilet roll holder but it snapped off the wall. After five minutes he realised that he was going to need help if he wasn't to spend the rest of his life in the little room. "Chook!" He called. That's his pet name for my female staff. "Chook! I need a little help here please."
"Where are you?" My female staff called back.
"In the toilet."
"What are you doing in there?" There was a moment's silence.
"Building a bloody hang-glider, what do you think?"
My female staff opened the door to the little room. "Are you stuck?" She enquired.
"No, I'm washing my bum in the toilet 'cos we don't have a bidet. Yes I'm bloody stuck." He raised his arms. "Pull me out will you?" My female staff tugged his arms but nothing shifted.
"This is hopeless." She said. "Shall I call the fire brigade?" Regular readers will know that my female staff likes calling the fire brigade. All those hunky young men in uniforms............
"No! Don't call the fire brigade. Just get some butter and smear it over my bum, then try pulling my arms again. My female staff went to the kitchen and returned a moment later.
"We haven't got any butter," she informed him. "We've only got this margarine. It's the stuff that's supposed to lower your cholesterol, so it'll be better for you anyway." She scooped a handful of the margarine from the tub. "Wait a minute." She said. "If I smear this stuff on the part of your bum that's not in the toilet it won't do any good. Unless I want to push you further down, and although that's certainly very tempting it won't get us out of this current situation."
"Hmmm, you're right." Said my male staff stroking his chin and looking as wise and dignified as anyone can with their backside stuck in the toilet and their feet waving in the air wrapped in their trousers and underpants. "You'll have to stick your hand between my legs into the toilet and plaster my bum with margarine that way."
"Bugger off!" Said my female staff sympathetically. "You do it."
"I would, but I can't reach can I? I'm not double jointed." My female staff sighed and scooped up an extra large helping of margarine, closed her eyes, held her nose with one hand and reached between my male staff's legs with the other and liberally plastered his bum with the stuff.
"This should reduce your cholesterol levels by at least fifty percent." She said as she carefully withdrew her hand.
"Yeah! Ha ha! Very funny." Said my male staff and raised his arms again for my female staff to pull. "Okay, lets try again. Grab my arms and pull and the count of three." My female staff grasped his arms. "Ready? One, two three!"
Well, it might have worked had my female staff washed the margarine from her hands, but sadly in the excitement and the adrenaline rush of the moment she'd forgotten and as she pulled with all her strength her grip slipped and she fell back against the door, banging her head hard.
"Right! That's it. I'm calling the fire brigade." She cried. "Jeez it stinks in here! Have you flushed the toilet?"
"No, I can't reach it can I?"
My female staff reached behind him and lowered the flush lever.
"Yiiiiiiiiii!" Yelped my male staff as the cold water splashed his nether regions and he shot into the air with a champagne cork like pop! He was free.
"Dammit!" Said my female staff. "Does this mean I don't need to call the fire brigade?"
Yoo humans don't no wot yor missing by dropping yor poopies into a toylutt. Frigzample yoo miss owt on playing my fayvritt sport - poopsoccer. Wen I'm like on the flaw afta wun of the otha piggies have been there furst I like to find wun of there poopies and like dribble it arownd obstackles with my nose and then shute it unda a chair with my feet. Uncal Billy's staff enjoi watching me do this and they like cheer and klap witch makes me very happy, ecksept this wun thyme wen they sed I was like offside, but I never woz.