"This is like Abu Ghraib"

As I type this, I am wearing a chemical mask. What am I protecting myself from? Sumner's chocolate chunky puke, which is covering our pillowcases and bedsheets.

As I type, Phil is in the bathroom, rinsing the really big chunks of puke off of the sheets into our bathtub. Oh, the sufferings of those who have no utility sinks. The chunks are too big to make it through the washing machine or, for that matter down the bathtub drain. Without this pre-rinse, we'd have a puke-sheet-milkshake in the washing machine. With this pre-rinse, Phil is going to have to gather the biggest chunks out of the drain and flush them down the toilet. There was only one chemical mask, so Phil's wearing a bandana over his mouth, like a cowboy. He just shouted, "This is like Abu Ghraib."

"What?" I asked.

"Torture. Absolute torture," he shot back.

I better go back in there for the assist before I get caught in here.