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Just Call Me Fred G. Sanford... and the "G" Stands for "Green!"
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Just Call Me Fred G. Sanford... and the "G" Stands for "Green!"

Ha! Ha, I say! Call me a pack rat, will you? Well, who's laughing now, hmmmm?

Okay, back up. I have this drawer, next to the bed, where I chuck all the unrecyclable shit that we seem to plow through on a weekly basis.

You've got your empty Flonase containers in there, some prescription bottles, razors, contact lens containers, floss containers, prosthetic limbs, glass eyes, you name it, it's in there. And, of course, I get a mild amount of shit for hoarding all this plasticrap from the Old Lady, usually taking the form of something akin to, "What the shit are you possible going to do with that?!"

So, back up over the last coupla weeks and Mr. Z has this cough/cold and the Old Lady is hit hard with this major plague where she's sleeping like she's got Boola-Boola and she's horking up her alveoli like she's been gargling with asbestos and gravel. And I'm thinking, "What the shit is going on in this fucking house?! It's the middle of August and everyone's illin' like it's February!" Which prompts me to go on a major crabbshack disinfectapalooza.

I start wiping down doorknobs and faucets, clean off all the handles on the kitchen cabinets, mop the floor, brush out the fucking crappers -- just went total Howard Hughes on its ass.

Then I take a look at the toothbrushes. Mr. Z's got like three of them that look like they're from the 80s, standing in a glass with primordially oozy streptocaca floating around in the bottom of it. Miss O has two that are basically stuck to the counter, inches away from the shitter. And the Old Lady's and my toothbrushes (teethbrush?) are sitting atop our bathroom counter that's basically veiled in the snot and lung-oyster silt that the Old Lady's been emitting for the last 14 days.

I was ready to fucking yook.

First thing I did? Went to the unrecyclable shit drawer, of course. Pull out four empty Flonase bottles, whip off the tops, run down to the toolbox to get some strips of velcro, run back up to the bathroooms, do some fancy MacGyverin' and, VOYLA!

I call it the "Sani-Crab Industries Toothbrush CrabbyCaddy 3000," and now, each member of the crabbyfamily is the proud owner of one of those mofos. And to officially wipe the bacteria-caked slate clean, I bought everyone their very own brand-spankin new Preserve Recycled Toothbrush (thanks to Burbanmom for the tip!).

That, my friends, is fucking crabgenuity at its finest. Myriad viruses and pathogens will surely continue their Bataan death march into the crabbshack, but our teeth will remain microbe-free. Shit, our mouths are so clean, you can practically eat off of them.

Best of all, even the Old Lady was impressed. And if she thinks that's impressive, wait 'til she sees what I have in store for her spent birth control pill containers and my old asthma inhalers.