The Callisto Protocol is turning my stomach. And not that it matters, but I don’t consider myself squeamish. I’m an ex-plumber, and I’ve found myself in some pretty gruesome situations. I’ve had my hand down a choked toilet pan more times than I care to recall, elbow-deep in number 2. I’ve fished dead pigeons from an attic tank after the tenant of a rental property complained their water supply tasted funny when brushing their teeth. I’ve discovered a rat’s nest in the choked grease trap of a fish and chip shop’s clogged sewer drain. And I once happened upon a poor old woman’s corpse weeks after she’d passed away in her sleep when I was called out to a flooded house.
