This Old House
They say a picture is worth a thousand words so…’nuff said.
I think I’m gonna have PTSD from this thing. Unclogging, removing and changing this pipe was like landing on Omaha beach in Normandy, except in place of bullets there was dark, ungodly poo. And it was everywhere.
Crawling on my hands and knees with a gasmask that was too loose, I shived the seeping open crack with a screwdriver till its contents went down the pipe, or made an assault river against me. I dodged but, oh god… *sob* not fast enough. No, not fast enough.