Monday, January 31, 2011

A WEE Bit Of Toilet Humour

God I hate myself for putting two puns in one title. Even one is too many.

Ok, so today's blog might have to be a quick one.

Or a long one. It all depends on how fast I write in the ad-breaks of Jeremy Kyle. *

But the important issue of the day was brought up during a conversation I was having a few weeks ago at a bar (I seem like an alcoholic, I know. I’m really not).

It was the act of going the bathroom at a bar, or anywhere for that matter. And how girls/ladies/whatever you’d like to call yourselves, always go in a pack. Stalking the bar as thought it was an African savanna, all having each other's backs, eyes never still (Except to look at the totally hot guy by the bar like OMG I think he like, looked at me. Does he like me? OMG I should totally talk to him).

Upon entering the serenity of the bathroom (I personally like to imagine a light Bach piece playing and the gentle smell of lavender in the air) they pamper themselves and compliment each other (“OMG look at you, you're so thin”, “That dress looks good on you!", “Oh thanks it's new”, “ Yeah, it really makes your boobs pop!”, “Oh thanks, they're new” etc, etc, etc).The atmosphere is pleasant and when the time comes for business you can retire to your booth and quietly await its arrival.

Male toilets are a very different atmosphere.

First, you almost always go alone (don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea).
Second, NO talking. Seriously, what are you going to say. “Hey bro, nice penis”. NO! Eyes ahead, I don’t care how much you dislike tiling. At a urinal, you fucking love tiling. You're like, "Holy shit look at this grouting, man they must have put some time into this". But you don’t say that, remember.

No one likes that dude that comes bursting into the toilet, slaps you on the back and starts talking to you like you're old pals.

When you have to go into the male bathroom there is no personal bubble, just a metal wall staring back at you. You try standing away from people, but someone will always push in and you’ll be stuck with someone attached to your shoulder for the duration of your time at the urinal.

But sometimes, like when you're drinking, you don't care. There's that drunken visit, the one the feels like half an orgasm. The visit that lasts for at least two minutes and you need to hold onto the walk for support.**

I have a lot more to say on this matter, I may address it at a later date but I don’t want to do one of those numbered lists of rules you see occasionally floating around the internet.

Until next time.

Also, wish me luck please, Hugh (my creative partner) and I are showing off our book tomorrow. Hopefully I return with good news.

*Damn you Jeremy. I both hate you and love you. Your collection of not only the ugliest guests in the world, but also the ugliest audience is a constant reminder that you don’t have to be beautiful to be fucked up. That stereotype is portrayed on too many MTV shows and needs to be stopped. But more on my love/loathing of JK (yeah I abbreviated it so what?) another day.

** On a side note, my dad told me that at beerfest they have handles by the toilets to hold on to. Genius!

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