In the bathroom, Dilbo was having a whole new world of problems. Whatever he'd eaten yesterday was taking its toll on his bottom -- he felt like he was expelling potatoes, and not the little ones the supermarket bundled into opaque plastic bags, either. Definitely the pick-your-own variety with the soil still on. He was almost afraid he'd rupture something. He remembered as a child his father in bed with a great, saw-toothed scar from an appendectomy – that had burst because of straining on the toilet. If giving birth was anything like this he'd found a new respect for women.
The relief came eventually, but he was appalled (when he'd found an old issue of MacUser to wipe with) to find the pages stained red. The toilet bowl left him clutching at the sink for support. Even Dilbo's limited knowledge of anatomy was enough to recognise that the long trails of bowel festooning the porcelain should ideally stay inside his bottom.
He flushed automatically, before it even occurred to him to gather them up and go to a hospital. He washed his hands carefully, removing any traces of blood and flesh from his hands, swallowing several times to keep the bile down. The banging on the door made him jump. "What?" he said. "I'm busy."
"I need the loo," said Sam, his voice squeaky with urgency. "What are you doing in there?"
"Um... cleaning." Dilbo opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a dusty bottle of green fluid that had been there when they moved in. He squirted it a few times around the toilet bowl and sink, hoping for a minor miracle but knowing in his heart of hearts (assuming it hadn't just dropped out and been flushed away) that they weren't going to get their deposit back when the finished college.
"Hurry!" said Sam again on the other side of the door. "I really, really need tohe loo. It's coming out of my bottom!"
"All right!" Dilbo left the cleaner bottle on the edge of the bath and unlocked the door, jumping at the proximity of Sam's face and his bloodshot eyes. "You don't look well."