Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 No sex.  Scat overtones

   When I was young my parents bought a small house that had an outhouse
instead of an indoor bathroom.  It was on a small lot of about 120'x150' in
an established community.

   The neighbors all had septic tanks installed but instead of a standard
finger system, they simply ran the overflow into the open ditches that
networked the back property lines and then into culverts along the streets.


   When it came time to install our tank, the neighbors had fits and wanted
to bring the health department into the discussion and knowing that there
was no way that we could get that accomplished and the city lines were a
couple miles away, my parents looked for an alternative solution.  In the
meantime the outhouse was our old standby.

   This was getting frustrating because in the small cluster of homes,
several of the women had far too little to do, so they filled their time
watching the goings on at our house.  I remember one summer day, the one
neighbor who lived behind and adjacent to the property line, watched and
then called mom, asking if one of us were sick because we had used the
outhouse several times that afternoon.

   After chemical toilets were considered and discarded as unapplicable,
composting also, dad found a store that had THE ANSWER!!!!  The salesman
assured him that this toilet would have no smell, weekly maintenance of
removing a tablespoon of dry odorless ash.  Praises be!!!  No longer would
we have the disgusting bad choice between a chamber pot that had to be
emptied or directly placing the excretory collection directly in the
outhouse.  It was so incredibly wonderful that people would put them on
their several hundred thousand dollar (at that time) yacht.

   My father bought the dream machine called a "Destroilet" along with all
the connections, triple wall stainless pipe and ordered yours truly to get
it hooked up to the gas line.

   This delightful contraption, as the sales pitch went, used a flow of
natural gas burning to reduce the excretory output of a family of 5 to the
afore mentioned dry ash while at the same time, pulling any possible smell
and heat out the chimney and leaving the interior of the house in pristine
excellence and smelling as delicately as the Queenk of England's boudoir.

   As the installation came to a close, we anxiously awaited, all excretory
canals filled and waiting to deposit their donation to the "giant step for
mankind," in our new prize possession.

   We plugged the unit into its own electrical outlet beside our gleaming
porcelain Destroylet.  Then following the directions carefully, we lifted
the lid and heard a muted fan come to life to graciously conduct any aroma
from the slightest toot to the most deafening chainsaw roaring bi-labial
fricative outside without the least hesitation.  Outstanding, it was just
as he had told us.  The final test we were to perform was to take about 18"
of toilet tissue, wad it up and drop it in and then close the lid for three
minutes.

   The lid closed with great trepidation.  Never in the course of the
Olympic Games was a watch followed so closely.  Finally with a few seconds
left to run, the lid was anxiously lifted and sure enough there was nothing
left but a slight dusting of ash.  Our life was to be changed.  We could
poop in the house like real `mericans rather some third world residents.

   I will say that this was the last time anything went as it was supposed
to go.  The family took their respective turns depositing in the indoor
repository.  The lid was shut and the burner came on with the roar of a low
powered leaf blower.  We went about our work waiting for the 20 minute
cycle to finish.

   The salesman had to be a terroristic Orthodox Rastafarian (since to call
him a standard terrorist would have the peace loving muslims rioting in 15
countries) may the zombies haunt him forevermore, to have such a despicably
moronic and netherworldly joke to pull on innocent desperate people.

   The smell coming from our house was an eye watering smell of turds being
cremated with overtones of burning urine.  To get a resemblance, should you
so desire to feed that particular perversion, remove the contents from the
litter box and then add equal amounts of pee.  Once accomplished, take your
favorite propane torch and proceed to toast, burn, and char the contents
while boiling the pee.

   One time someone had an emergency and tried to use it before the 20
minute cycle was finished and got scalded by the urine steam.

   The only thing I can say good about this was that if the nosy neighbors
tried to have a BBQ, we could shut it down by burning the Destroilet.  One
of them wanted to know if something had died that we were trying to get rid
of by burning instead of burying.

   The alleged weekly chore ended up being an every second or third day of
scooping out a half gallon of mess that was toasted on the outside and a
raw mush on the inside.  We were to take turns cleaning this fire breathing
turd eater but I found it so disgusting that I chose to use the outhouse so
I didn't have to clean it so often.

   What I had to do was to disassemble it and clean the fan.  The fan that
took mostly took the fumes out of the house, sucked all the fumes and ash
through the blades and of course the heat and the acid in the urine caused
the fan to plug up.  In addition to the poop scooping, my job was to pull
the top apart and clean the motor and the blades and after oiling, put it
back together so it could BBQ more poop.

   I have seen the company that took over Destroilet advertising how
"green" this solution is for you.  If having your own in home crematorium
is your goal, knock yourself out.  If you need a bathroom fixture, DO NOT
get one of these type of toilets unless you have an uncontrollable
scatological obsession.

   If someone tries to sell you one, know that they are lower than a
Nigerian scammer and are just waiting to part you from your money.  They
might even wait until you get to your car to roll on the floor making fun
of you, but don't count on it.