In the land of Porcelain and Poop, the Arse Gun is King
I've just rented a premises which is home to the most feared arse blaster this side of the fucking Sun.
Not only does she administer involuntary but thoroughly comprehensive sessions of colonic irrigation in no more than 2 nano seconds, but would also make an integral piece of equipment to any fire service worth its salt.
If this violent fucker had been around in 1666, The Great Fire of London wouldn't register in the history books and in turn swapped with a more appropriate name like The 'There Was A Fire For About One Fucking Second When A Large Bastard Tidal Wave Put The Whole Fucking City Under Water For Seven Months' of London.
So, assuming I shan't be doing 'as the Romans do' and walking around for the best part of the day with an arsehole full of shit - and I'm buggered if I'm going to throw ten precious baht in the gutter for some tissue paper, which if you merticulously cast an eye over this whole form of anal cleansing is in fact quite primitive too; essentially conducting the mop up with leaves - then I must have to, as a crack addled Yardie might say "Pull Da Trigga An Fire".
"SMACK"
Fuck me if my sphincter, near as dammit, got lodged in my throat.
Now, I can't suffer this. The most sacred part of the morning has been tarnished by an over zealous fecal removing fixture.
Short of going native or tossing baht down the bog for toiletroll - what can I do to solve this?
Is the pressure reducable?