Doctor Poo and the Sink of Secrets

 

 

Doctor Poo and the Sink of Secrets

Not everything that gurgles is harmless…

The signs began small.

A bubble here.
A gurgle there.
And the faint sound of whispering… from the plughole.

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The Murmurs from the Drain

In a quiet suburban street in Sudlington-on-Loo, Mr Thistlethump was brushing his teeth when his bathroom sink coughed. Not burbled, not drained — coughed.

“Excuse me?” he asked, foaming at the mouth.

The sink answered:

“I know what you put down me last Thursday. It was… chicken soup. You monster.”

He spat minty foam across the mirror and screamed.

From that moment forward, the Sink of Secrets began to speak.

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A Plumbing Panic

Across the globe, sinks were snitching.

• In Brazil, a hairdresser was outed for dyeing cats.
• In Paris, a pastry chef’s stolen éclair recipe was revealed mid-rinse.
• In Cleethorpes, a sink muttered “liar” every time someone washed their hands too quickly.

No plughole was safe.

The world turned to its only hope: a man with a plunger, a scarf, and a mild shampoo addiction.

Doctor Poo.

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The Truth in the Pipes

Deep beneath Earth’s crust, far below the septic crustaceans of Layer 12, lies the Sewer of Secrecy — home to the Sink of Secrets, a sentient plumbing nexus created by ancient aliens with OCD and a need for constant confession.

Doctor Poo descended into its echoing, dripping depths in the Time Toilet, joined by:

• Dame Tapitha Dribble, a retired opera singer turned faucet-wrangler,
• Cloggins, a sarcastic pipe wrench with AI, and
• Bobby Bathplug, an excitable young apprentice with a fear of drains and a bag of mints.

The Sink of Secrets welcomed them with a belch of honesty:

“Doctor Poo, you left the toilet seat up in 1997. Don’t think I forgot.”

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A Battle of Guilt

As secrets bubbled and splashed into the air like explosive confessions, Doctor Poo felt the weight of a thousand indiscretions.

“I may have forgotten to floss for three consecutive months,” he shouted, “but I will not be drained by your guilt!”

He wielded the Mirror of Denial, reflecting the sink’s shame back upon itself.

With a mighty gurgle, the Sink of Secrets swallowed its own piping.

BOOM!
The sewer imploded into a whirlpool of forgiven misdemeanours, and silence returned to the world’s basins.

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The Aftermath

People went back to brushing their teeth in peace.

Mr Thistlethump now uses a cup.

Doctor Poo disappeared once more, leaving only a bottle of drain cleaner and a note:

“Be honest, be clean, and for heaven’s sake, stop rinsing paintbrushes in the bathroom.”