No Shit, Sherlock!

 

Damn, Sherlock, you artsy fartsy!

Here, here, here, is the very toilet that the great Sherlock Holmes used to use at 221B Baker St. in London, now a museum for all of our enjoyment. Look at that floral pattern! Sherlock had style. But he wasn’t as awesome at figuring out mysteries as you all think he was, since I solved his most amateur mystery of all time. Have a¬†gander…

Anywho, you’re probably wondering how I ended up here and how I became an infinite better modern-day Sherlock. After trekking through the roads of London and waring out my poor royal feet (like, where’s my horse drawn carriage?!), I finally arrived at the home of everyone’s favorite detective. Let me say, it was pretty radical to get a little glimpse of some of his cases, which were plastered in glass frames to various walls in the house, but oh so frustrating that they always ended on a cliffhanger…like, I actually have to go read the books if I want to find out anything. And since I’m a princess, I could never lift a finger to do something so strenuous as reading, so looks like I shall be out of the know forever. Anywho, after perusing through all of Sherlock’s goodies, I decided to try to crack one case on my own so that way I wouldn’t have to, like, read or anything crappy like that. One case that I found in Sherlock’s bedroom described a woman who just could not figure out why her breath sucked so much. Okay, this was like seriously the lamest case ever, but the only one someone so empty headed as I could even fathom understanding. Anywho, the description went into how the woman’s breath, like, suddenly just started sucking. “Why does my breath smell like shit, Sherlock?!” she had exclaimed in the case explanation. In response, Sherlock made some vague reference to a bristly object, which he presumed was thrown into something made of porcelain, something that, well, contains shit. “ZOMG, PORCELAIN. THIS IS SO MY CALLING,” I exclaimed so enthusiastically in my noggin. So I bounded up the stairs, asked a house attendant where in the world the bathroom was, and came upon our little floral masterpiece, where I discovered a toothbrush floating in it, surrounded by, well, shit! I wanted to take a photo of those remnants, but decade-old shit smells pretty disgusting, and thus I just had to get the hell out of there. Smells like that are just not suited for a princess! My poo’s are much classier. Anywho, I told the house attendant about the mess and that I solved Sherlock’s most wretchedly difficult mystery, and she was like, “Oh-em-gee, how has no one noticed this?!” (Am I like the only person who has ever gone into a bathroom here?! Do people not enjoy looking at toilets?! Slash, really, Sherlock, you never finished solving the mystery?! Likeee, no shit, Sherlock (well actually, tons of shit here, Sherlock), the toothbrush was right there!) So the nice little attendant deemed me a hero for figuring out the long-unsolved mystery of why the woman’s breath flat out sucked. And then I snuck back into the bathroom, which now smelled of a darling lavender spray post clean-up (how royal!) and snapped a photo for your viewing pleasure. Isn’t it just royal?

It matches the toilet. No shit, Sherlock!