It's A Dirty Job

Deep down in the dark recesses of your very own home, unbeknownst to you, lives a horrible and deadly enemy. No, I’m not referring to your long-lost, deformed brother your parents locked in the basement. I’m talking instead of everyday dirt. Yes, dirt and filth is a deadly adversary, waiting only for you to let your guard down before it strikes and takes everything you hold dear. They don’t call them “dust bunnies” for nothing, and it’s not because they like carrots. It is because, like normal bunnies, they thirst for blood. And one boy found this out the hard way…

Johnny was your average child. He loved to have fun and play outdoors. He loved to roll in the mud and get dust and dirt all over his body. But there was one thing unique about Johnny-his beautiful hair. His long, flowing locks were soft as silk and golden as the summer sun. Everybody was awed by the sight of his wondrous tresses and his family had to wear sunglasses to avoid the brilliant shine after he applied shampoo and conditioner. His secret: “Repeat. Always repeat.” Johnny loved his hair, and he thought they would be together for the rest of his life.

However, one fateful day would change his life forever. After a particularly messy day of playing, Johnny began to take what seemed like an ordinary shower. Unfortunately, Johnny’s foot hit a slick patch of linoleum and he went tumbling backward, flailing his arms like an upset monkey at the zoo that no one would feed. Johnny’s head struck the shower wall with a sharp CRACK and he slumped to the ground, his scalp cut and bleeding.

Now this would be bad enough, but there’s something I didn’t tell you about Johnny. In contrast to his shiny hair, the rest of his home was anything but spotless. Dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen sink, and the bathroom sink for some reason. Clouds of dirt and dust were everywhere and on every piece of furniture. The mud-soaked halls were never mopped, so much so that Johnny left fresh footprint in his own house. And the worst was in the shower. Layer upon layer of soap-scum and mildew stained the shower walls. So when Johnny fell and his fresh blood spilled onto the dirty tiles, a bruised head was not the only injury. The mildew and soap-scum, awaked from rest by the scent of warm, delicious blood, began to swarm on Johnny’s head, seeping into his open and unprotected scalp. There, the germs and dirt found a feast they couldn’t imagine in their wildest dirt-dreams, his glorious mane. They dug into it, consuming it until not even a singe hair was left. No follicle was left untouched.

“Ohhh my ache’n head,” muttered Johnny as he awoke from his slumber. He reached up to feel his split scalp and instead of meeting the velvety touch he was so used to, he felt only the slick skin of his now-bald cranium. With a scream, he began to search every nook and cranny of his head (a search that admittedly did not take too long). He then felt the gash in his skin and pulled out the germ-infested mildew that had chewed down his copious curls. His scream of torment and agony could be heard for miles.

It was then that Johnny realized what he must do. He began to scrub and clean. Mopping and sweeping, dusting and sponging, Johnny slowly but surely removed every speck of grime and filth that resided in his home. The tiny screams of pain that escaped his dirty adversaries were music to his ears. The work took him 20 years to complete. And it was not easy work. The arduous cleaning motions left him strong and tough. In one expedition, he was wounded in the ear by a ravenous dust bunny, and decided to put a gold earring there to remember the battle.

Twenty years later, after polishing the last doorknob, Johnny emerged and vowed to fight filth wherever it may live. But he decided that he wouldn’t go by his first name anymore. It was too childish, a part of his past life. He had been through too much, seen too many horrible things. He was mature now. So he uses only his last name, Clean. And to this day, Mr. Clean (though temporarily Dr. Clean before dropping out of medical school because he spent too much time scrubbing his hands before surgery) fights the never-ending battle against grime and grunge wherever it rears its ugly head. And if ever find yourself backed into a corner, facing an onslaught of muck and slimy build-up, you need only to call upon him and he will come, with his mighty oxidizing agents, to save the day-and your bathroom tile.

THE END?