Mind over matter, look out for the splatter

This is pretty bad. Haven't been in our apartment but a week and we're getting a replacement toilet. It is unplungable, if such a term exists. We have to keep our bathroom door shut because it smells like we flushed Death Himself in there. This is only made more poignant having just watched Eraserhead. What's down there? Will it ever be explained?

But once again, I can't complain that much... apparently our downstairs neighbors have been flooded and Death Himself has invaded their whole damn living space.

That's us: Makin' friends outta the new neighborfolk with a quickness.

I don't necessarily expect to survive the night between septic shock and being hunted down by pissed off basement dwellers.

Flood, Track 1 -- Boris (from Flood)