Eventually I plan on having quites from various poems that I have come across over the years from bathroom walls across the land - I may have invented the art, a fact that I am very proud of, but I am not vain about it. I do rather enjoy the commentary that I have read on many-a bathroom wall. If you take away the ones that are there for no other reason then to drop the f-bomb or to rip on an ex-girlfriend or ex-wife, then you are left with some pretty good stuff! So....
Flush the toilet
and slam down the lid
Pull up your britches
never mind the skid
Pull out a pen
and leave a note
Ryme it like P-Diddy
Make it dope
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Broken Heart
So I bet you thought that I had died, or something like that? I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that, after two months of writing I up and disappeared. The truth is that I was doing a stretch up in Sing-Sing. For those of you who have no idea what the f-ing hell I am talking about – and that is probably most of you, since that joke was not very well constructed, but it was the best I could come up with under the circumstances – Sing-Sing is my little way of saying that for the past eight months or so I have been having to endure a prison of sorts; a prison that we have all – or least most of us - have visited at one time or another in our lives, willingly I might add. You guessed it – marriage!
It happens every now and again, even to the best of us. Like many poor saps and incurable romantic, I lost control of my senses and fell head-over-heel for some dame that said all the right things and had a nice rack. Before I knew what the hell was happening my tighty-whities were sharing their drawer space with a butterfly-embroidered friends made out of silk. Worse yet, my bathroom was transformed into a pink monstrosity, almost like a Flamingo had some how found it’s way in there one morning and then just exploded – pink frilly things landing on the toilet-seat cover and around the kleen-nex box and on the floor mat in front of the shower. My voice on the answering machine was also replaced by that of a women who proclaimed, giggly that “you have reached Sarah’s house, leave a message and I will get back to you as soon possible, tootles – hehehe.”
That was my first clue that my single story 1000 sq. ft. area that I once called home was mine no longer. My next clue would come when I came home and found my DVD collection – Aliens, Terminator, Battlestar Gallactica. . . Three’s Company, replaced with the complete series of Murder She Wrote and The Ultimate Collection of TV’s Golden Years: 1950’s – 60’s.” The last and final clue would be when I, again coming home, would find my house completely gutted – no furniture, no TV, no paintings on the wall, only divorce papers dropped carelessly on the floor for me to sign.
When all was said and done my wallet got a few hundred dollars lighter each month, but I did get to keep the house, and the TV and wife that I used to come home to each and every night was replaced by a two-gallon fish tank and a single gold fish which died last Thursday because I forgot to feed it.
That’s the story of my life there in one single sentence.
The lesson to be learned here, kiddies, marriage doesn’t work – for me it didn’t work the first time around or the second and it certainly didn’t work the fourth time around.
And yes, Sarah is her real name, not that you will have any idea who she is by such a simple and common name like Sarah, but if you ever shack up with a women with eyes as blue as glacial ice and skin a smooth as a freshly blown snow drift and with a heart just as cold, it might be her. The only warm part of our brief time together was her hair; the color of the sun after a long days drift across the sky and the warmth that it brought just before it set.
If I will miss anything it will be her hair, but that’s it – her hair.
Work will resume around here Monday with some new material.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Before the beginning
This is a story that, while it shouldn’t always bring a smile to my face whenever I think about it, it does. It is a story about the days that every male fondly enjoys – the days when he was young dumb and full of cum. Like most other men of their late teenager age, I spent much of my day’s back then hanging out with friends, joking and laughing and overall having a good time. Such a good time in fact, that on most occasions, like when I should have been up in my dorm room study for the next days history, math, or chemistry exam, I was out getting shit faced with my friends or being irresponsible in other ways.
The year was 1959 and I was out celebrating the death of my best friend Jimmy. Jimmy and I had been best friends since our freshman year of high school when we - before we were old enough to know how the “game” worked - tromped up and down our local neighborhoods chasing girls and after we were old enough, we spent our nights trying to woo the school cheerleaders; the hottie on the debate club, or some random girl that we would meet in the hallway into a romantic drive up to lookout point. Our advances were often met with the usual “I don’t think so,” but every so often one of us would be charming enough to get some special lady to take the drive, in which case the night most likely ended with a slap in the face or a knee to the grown.
Back to this “death” celebration, it isn’t what you think. One night as Jimmy was up at lookout point and as he leaned in to kiss the girl he was with, instead of getting a knee to the grown - as was usually the case - he instead got a kiss back – this was really unprecedented territory for him. As it turned out the girl he was with was very fond of Jimmy and he was very found or her, and, well, to make a long story short, they ended up getting engaged.
This is what brought Jimmy and me to the “Bottoms Up” strip club, as we bid farewell to Jimmy the man and welcomed into the world Jimmy the husband, where life would never to be the same, a world where if you were not dying you were now well on your way.
What I didn’t think about before I planned this little excursion was where in the country we where – Southern Wyoming. For those who have never been to Wyoming, it is a rugged, harsh land where the men are real men, and, well, the women are too. This was a fact that I had completely failed to take into consideration until the first stripper walked on stage. Besides the noticeable lean with which she walked there was something not quite right about her and which spoke volumes about how the women in this part of the country have it rough and can’t help but show their wear and tear. Then there was the dancing – lord help us. It was like watching an epileptic cat having a seizure right there on the dance floor. With her eyes rolled back inside of her head and her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth I would have thought she had died if wasn’t for the sporadic jerking in between periods of absolute stillness.
The next stripper was perfect in every way. She was in her late twenties, slim with nice curves and perfectly shaped breasts and beautiful long brown hair that went down all the way to the small in her back. She was truly a work of art – black eye and all – that was, until she smiled.
I can only imagine what she must have thought of me the first time she saw me sitting there drooling like a leaky faucet. The expression on my face, I imagine, consisted of crossed eyes and a glazed over stare which signaled that I was no long present but drifting in my own little world, living out a fantasy that - for the sake of our PG-13 readers - can best be described as “graphic.”
I only came too as her performance came to a close and as the announcer said: “Give it up for Tristy, wow!” As she walked off stage I noticed that she looked back over her shoulder at me and winked.
It was an hour later as Jimmy was singing pirate songs with the bum that was sitting next to him – the one that had fallen asleep into his bowl of peanuts not half an hour before – that I got our stuff together and start to get up and leave, dragging Jimmy behind me as he asked hostesses and strippers alike if they wanted to “walk the plank.”
“Leaving so soon?” A voice asked as I was attempting to prevent Jimmy from climbing onto the bar to make a toast to his fellow drunkards.
Standing there before me was Tristy. She was wearing 3-inch platform shoes, which made her seem taller than I was, and a two-peace red bathing suite, which was two sizes to small for her, and an ear-to-ear smile, which revealed two missing front teeth.
That is how I met my first wife.
The year was 1959 and I was out celebrating the death of my best friend Jimmy. Jimmy and I had been best friends since our freshman year of high school when we - before we were old enough to know how the “game” worked - tromped up and down our local neighborhoods chasing girls and after we were old enough, we spent our nights trying to woo the school cheerleaders; the hottie on the debate club, or some random girl that we would meet in the hallway into a romantic drive up to lookout point. Our advances were often met with the usual “I don’t think so,” but every so often one of us would be charming enough to get some special lady to take the drive, in which case the night most likely ended with a slap in the face or a knee to the grown.
Back to this “death” celebration, it isn’t what you think. One night as Jimmy was up at lookout point and as he leaned in to kiss the girl he was with, instead of getting a knee to the grown - as was usually the case - he instead got a kiss back – this was really unprecedented territory for him. As it turned out the girl he was with was very fond of Jimmy and he was very found or her, and, well, to make a long story short, they ended up getting engaged.
This is what brought Jimmy and me to the “Bottoms Up” strip club, as we bid farewell to Jimmy the man and welcomed into the world Jimmy the husband, where life would never to be the same, a world where if you were not dying you were now well on your way.
What I didn’t think about before I planned this little excursion was where in the country we where – Southern Wyoming. For those who have never been to Wyoming, it is a rugged, harsh land where the men are real men, and, well, the women are too. This was a fact that I had completely failed to take into consideration until the first stripper walked on stage. Besides the noticeable lean with which she walked there was something not quite right about her and which spoke volumes about how the women in this part of the country have it rough and can’t help but show their wear and tear. Then there was the dancing – lord help us. It was like watching an epileptic cat having a seizure right there on the dance floor. With her eyes rolled back inside of her head and her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth I would have thought she had died if wasn’t for the sporadic jerking in between periods of absolute stillness.
The next stripper was perfect in every way. She was in her late twenties, slim with nice curves and perfectly shaped breasts and beautiful long brown hair that went down all the way to the small in her back. She was truly a work of art – black eye and all – that was, until she smiled.
I can only imagine what she must have thought of me the first time she saw me sitting there drooling like a leaky faucet. The expression on my face, I imagine, consisted of crossed eyes and a glazed over stare which signaled that I was no long present but drifting in my own little world, living out a fantasy that - for the sake of our PG-13 readers - can best be described as “graphic.”
I only came too as her performance came to a close and as the announcer said: “Give it up for Tristy, wow!” As she walked off stage I noticed that she looked back over her shoulder at me and winked.
It was an hour later as Jimmy was singing pirate songs with the bum that was sitting next to him – the one that had fallen asleep into his bowl of peanuts not half an hour before – that I got our stuff together and start to get up and leave, dragging Jimmy behind me as he asked hostesses and strippers alike if they wanted to “walk the plank.”
“Leaving so soon?” A voice asked as I was attempting to prevent Jimmy from climbing onto the bar to make a toast to his fellow drunkards.
Standing there before me was Tristy. She was wearing 3-inch platform shoes, which made her seem taller than I was, and a two-peace red bathing suite, which was two sizes to small for her, and an ear-to-ear smile, which revealed two missing front teeth.
That is how I met my first wife.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The French
Today a French doctor delcared that we need to all embrace the fart, because it's just not healthy to hold it in.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Happy Satan Day
Today the world population is projected to hit 6,666,666,666. What is real freaky is the fact that the number of available IPv4 addresses is around 666,666,666 and should surpass that number by today as well. That is bad jo-jo.
Shout out
A shout out to the man with the ten gallon hat
And a shout out to those who never showed up to bat
Sometimes in life all it takes is one single swing
A swing to bring home all the bling-bling
And now here I am just sittin' on the can
And makin' a name for myself with my ass, man
Oh, no, not like that
But again, thanks to the man with the ten gallon hat.
-Toilet Bowl
*New and unreleased
And a shout out to those who never showed up to bat
Sometimes in life all it takes is one single swing
A swing to bring home all the bling-bling
And now here I am just sittin' on the can
And makin' a name for myself with my ass, man
Oh, no, not like that
But again, thanks to the man with the ten gallon hat.
-Toilet Bowl
*New and unreleased
The end
Recently I told you about the beginning of how the bathroom wall poetry revolution got started, now it's time I told you how it all ended, at least how it entered a heatis. As times goes by I will fill in the gaps of the years and decades in between.
The year was 1997, by this time Uranus Paper Products was a long time success - maybe not a cash cow, but a success none the less. Over the previous 35 years I had made enough money to buy a house, restore my vintage Mustang, put two kids through college and to pay my alimony - errrr. As the years pasted on it felt more and more appropriate to star and think about closing up shop. I had seen business partners come and go and start successful business of their own, all the while Uranus toiletries survived. The company survived wars, high and lows in the economy, it even survived a rather large warehouse fire that incinerated more than 30% of our inventory.
Short of tee-peeing the civilized world with toilet paper, the company was a success - I was a success - and there was nothing left to prove. It was never a question of whether or not I was getting to old to caring on, I could have gone on for another 35 years - until my dying breathe. If anything, it was getting boring - it's hard to break new ground in the toilet paper world.
I had been to the brink and back and had survived to tell my tale.
I subtly mentioned to friends and college that I was looking to sell. Then one day I got a call - out of the blue - from a man that I knew, if only vaguely, as one of my larger competitors. He asked in a matter of fact tone if I was selling? Knowing who he was and that he was a competitor or mine and what he was referring too, I decided to play dumb.
"Toilet paper or other bathroom products?" I asked, trying to have a little fun.
"Don't play with me, are you selling or not?" He answered back angrily making it clear that he wasn't in the mood for games, probably never was.
"Yes, there are conditions-" I began to say only to be cut abruptly off.
"No conditions. I will give you a fare price, after that I'll shut down your plant and absorb you clientele-"
*Click*
It was then that I realized I was going about this all wrong. I didn't want to see Uranus Products completely disappear, it was my baby, I simply wanted to hand off the reins, it was that simple. My kids had shown no interest in taking over, not that I can blame them. It offered no challenge or excitement and being of the Toilet Bowl lineage those characteristics were built into the gene pool. I may be from the shallow end of the toilet bowl, but it's still the end that craves adventure. At the time that I started the company it was nothing and I had to build it into something successful was an adventure in itself.
What I needed was someone who had a stake in the business. The fact that my lively hood was on the line when I started was enough to make me want to make the business work. That is what was needed now; new blood and an injection of new life.
Before I could finish the thought I knew where that new blood could be found.
I had learned a long time ago that happiness cannot be bought with money - sorry for the Beatles quote, but it's true. It was then that I thought back to those early years and the hotel rooms that smelled of cigarette smoke, and the cold winters I spent far away from home trying to make a buck, and to the highway rest stops at which I stopped at more than one times then I can remember. I thought of how, after enough stops, I made sure that I always had a Sharpie on me whenever I was on the road just so that I could leave my mark on the world. It was a marker that cost me less than a dollar that made me happy and since I had given that up I had been. . .not miserable, but certainly not as happy as I could have been.
On a bright sunny day in early July of 1997 I called in a large part of the company staff - all employees who had been with the company for more than 10 years - and told them that I was retiring. What followed was pleadings for me to stay. Now, I always tried to be a good boss, but it was flattering if not somewhat embarrassing when your employees plead with you to stay not because they are concerned for their jobs but because they enjoyed their jobs. This scenario is very rare - VERY RARE - in today's world. The truth is that I was going to miss them allterribly, but this was something I had to do.
"I'm giving you the business - free and clear." I said over the rumbling voices and agitated discussion. "I have been looking to retire for sometime now, but haven't found the right person to take over things. Turns out that I was looking in all the wrong places, all I had to do was come out here and look out onto the factory floor to find what I was looking for."
I wanted to say that I loved the business like I loved my loyal Dog and that I would fight with every breathe to keep it alive, but if I said that I knew that I would be stating what they all ready knew to be true in their own hearts. To make a long story short I wasn't worried. And to this day they are still around and doing fine and whenever I drop by to say hello I am always met with happy faces, which is the way that I wanted it.
After that I took round trip after road trip, stopping to visit every restroom in every hotel and rest stop and gas station that I could and thus I was reborn.
The year was 1997, by this time Uranus Paper Products was a long time success - maybe not a cash cow, but a success none the less. Over the previous 35 years I had made enough money to buy a house, restore my vintage Mustang, put two kids through college and to pay my alimony - errrr. As the years pasted on it felt more and more appropriate to star and think about closing up shop. I had seen business partners come and go and start successful business of their own, all the while Uranus toiletries survived. The company survived wars, high and lows in the economy, it even survived a rather large warehouse fire that incinerated more than 30% of our inventory.
Short of tee-peeing the civilized world with toilet paper, the company was a success - I was a success - and there was nothing left to prove. It was never a question of whether or not I was getting to old to caring on, I could have gone on for another 35 years - until my dying breathe. If anything, it was getting boring - it's hard to break new ground in the toilet paper world.
I had been to the brink and back and had survived to tell my tale.
I subtly mentioned to friends and college that I was looking to sell. Then one day I got a call - out of the blue - from a man that I knew, if only vaguely, as one of my larger competitors. He asked in a matter of fact tone if I was selling? Knowing who he was and that he was a competitor or mine and what he was referring too, I decided to play dumb.
"Toilet paper or other bathroom products?" I asked, trying to have a little fun.
"Don't play with me, are you selling or not?" He answered back angrily making it clear that he wasn't in the mood for games, probably never was.
"Yes, there are conditions-" I began to say only to be cut abruptly off.
"No conditions. I will give you a fare price, after that I'll shut down your plant and absorb you clientele-"
*Click*
It was then that I realized I was going about this all wrong. I didn't want to see Uranus Products completely disappear, it was my baby, I simply wanted to hand off the reins, it was that simple. My kids had shown no interest in taking over, not that I can blame them. It offered no challenge or excitement and being of the Toilet Bowl lineage those characteristics were built into the gene pool. I may be from the shallow end of the toilet bowl, but it's still the end that craves adventure. At the time that I started the company it was nothing and I had to build it into something successful was an adventure in itself.
What I needed was someone who had a stake in the business. The fact that my lively hood was on the line when I started was enough to make me want to make the business work. That is what was needed now; new blood and an injection of new life.
Before I could finish the thought I knew where that new blood could be found.
I had learned a long time ago that happiness cannot be bought with money - sorry for the Beatles quote, but it's true. It was then that I thought back to those early years and the hotel rooms that smelled of cigarette smoke, and the cold winters I spent far away from home trying to make a buck, and to the highway rest stops at which I stopped at more than one times then I can remember. I thought of how, after enough stops, I made sure that I always had a Sharpie on me whenever I was on the road just so that I could leave my mark on the world. It was a marker that cost me less than a dollar that made me happy and since I had given that up I had been. . .not miserable, but certainly not as happy as I could have been.
On a bright sunny day in early July of 1997 I called in a large part of the company staff - all employees who had been with the company for more than 10 years - and told them that I was retiring. What followed was pleadings for me to stay. Now, I always tried to be a good boss, but it was flattering if not somewhat embarrassing when your employees plead with you to stay not because they are concerned for their jobs but because they enjoyed their jobs. This scenario is very rare - VERY RARE - in today's world. The truth is that I was going to miss them allterribly, but this was something I had to do.
"I'm giving you the business - free and clear." I said over the rumbling voices and agitated discussion. "I have been looking to retire for sometime now, but haven't found the right person to take over things. Turns out that I was looking in all the wrong places, all I had to do was come out here and look out onto the factory floor to find what I was looking for."
I wanted to say that I loved the business like I loved my loyal Dog and that I would fight with every breathe to keep it alive, but if I said that I knew that I would be stating what they all ready knew to be true in their own hearts. To make a long story short I wasn't worried. And to this day they are still around and doing fine and whenever I drop by to say hello I am always met with happy faces, which is the way that I wanted it.
After that I took round trip after road trip, stopping to visit every restroom in every hotel and rest stop and gas station that I could and thus I was reborn.
Beauty is not always art
A thunderous roar of high applause
I let one go without any pause
Free from now on to travel the wind
Be free my dear friend I'll never see thee again
Frowning faces and waving hand
Make your through the crowd and out upon the land
Most don't realize the beauty of art
And most don't appreciate a good ol' fart
-Toilet Bowl
*This little ditty I came up with in the early 90's.
I let one go without any pause
Free from now on to travel the wind
Be free my dear friend I'll never see thee again
Frowning faces and waving hand
Make your through the crowd and out upon the land
Most don't realize the beauty of art
And most don't appreciate a good ol' fart
-Toilet Bowl
*This little ditty I came up with in the early 90's.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Someone wiser than me once said:
A turd can last for an eternity, but a fart instantly passes into history.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
In the beginning. . .
So I think that it’s time I come clean a little and tell you how and why I wrote on that bathroom wall all those years ago and how a single moment in my life helped me through a difficult time, but also started me on creating one of America’s favorite past times – bathroom wall poetry.
The town was Lincoln, Nebraska, I had been struggling for the better part of a year to get Uranus Toilet Paper products into the green and on its way to becoming a real company. I can’t easily explain how I got into the toilet paper business other than by saying I thought that I could make money doing it – and quick – by providing a product that was cheap and easy to produce and one which I could turn around and sell with ease by undercutting the competition. But, it didn’t work out that way, life seldom does. My primary customers were medium to large businesses, or, at least that was the plan of whom I was going to be selling my product to – the big boys. It became apparent rather quickly, however, that places of employment who paid salaries, labor costs, rent, amongst a millions of other bills that came along with owning a business, didn’t want to dish out any money for bathroom products – I guess they figured they provided you with a means to live, they weren’t going to wipe your ass for you too.
The last hope I had to make a buck was a large bank in the Lincoln area, I won’t say which one, and to make a long story short, that prospect fell through. Later that day I found myself in the bathroom struggling in my mind about what to do next; quit and get a real job or push on and fall, more than likely, further into debt. As you can imagine I was depressed and overall, a wreck. I wasn’t suicidal, but it did cross my mind to write my last will and testament on those bathroom walls.
It was than that I heard a singing from the stall next to mine which I didn’t even know was occupied. The bar atone voice that sang very much out of tune and which had a rather crackly edge to it kept repeating the same line over and over: “Just sitting here ass cheeks-a-flexin’. Every once in a while there would be a pause and grunt (amongst other bodily noises) and just as I thought he was going to add another verse onto his little ditty he just repeated the line again. It was then that I pulled out a Sharpie from my pocket and wrote the now famous lines on the bathroom wall – followed by my own personal additions, or course.
When I was finished I walked out of the stall and over to the sink to wash my hands, which was next to the one being used by the would be bathroom poet. He was an overweight cowboy looking type who was wearing cowboy boots and a ten-gallon cowboy hat. I washed my hands and as I walking out the door I turned, smiled and said “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew, and for the first time in, well, possibly ever, I knew everything was going to be alright.
It was because of him that I realized that nothing comes easy, certainly not as easy as that rhyme came to me. I doubled my efforts and completely changed around my work ethic, not to mention my business model. I worked longer hours and twice as hard, I would sell my toilet paper door to door and roll by roll if I had too, but I would make it work.
The town was Lincoln, Nebraska, I had been struggling for the better part of a year to get Uranus Toilet Paper products into the green and on its way to becoming a real company. I can’t easily explain how I got into the toilet paper business other than by saying I thought that I could make money doing it – and quick – by providing a product that was cheap and easy to produce and one which I could turn around and sell with ease by undercutting the competition. But, it didn’t work out that way, life seldom does. My primary customers were medium to large businesses, or, at least that was the plan of whom I was going to be selling my product to – the big boys. It became apparent rather quickly, however, that places of employment who paid salaries, labor costs, rent, amongst a millions of other bills that came along with owning a business, didn’t want to dish out any money for bathroom products – I guess they figured they provided you with a means to live, they weren’t going to wipe your ass for you too.
The last hope I had to make a buck was a large bank in the Lincoln area, I won’t say which one, and to make a long story short, that prospect fell through. Later that day I found myself in the bathroom struggling in my mind about what to do next; quit and get a real job or push on and fall, more than likely, further into debt. As you can imagine I was depressed and overall, a wreck. I wasn’t suicidal, but it did cross my mind to write my last will and testament on those bathroom walls.
It was than that I heard a singing from the stall next to mine which I didn’t even know was occupied. The bar atone voice that sang very much out of tune and which had a rather crackly edge to it kept repeating the same line over and over: “Just sitting here ass cheeks-a-flexin’. Every once in a while there would be a pause and grunt (amongst other bodily noises) and just as I thought he was going to add another verse onto his little ditty he just repeated the line again. It was then that I pulled out a Sharpie from my pocket and wrote the now famous lines on the bathroom wall – followed by my own personal additions, or course.
When I was finished I walked out of the stall and over to the sink to wash my hands, which was next to the one being used by the would be bathroom poet. He was an overweight cowboy looking type who was wearing cowboy boots and a ten-gallon cowboy hat. I washed my hands and as I walking out the door I turned, smiled and said “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew, and for the first time in, well, possibly ever, I knew everything was going to be alright.
It was because of him that I realized that nothing comes easy, certainly not as easy as that rhyme came to me. I doubled my efforts and completely changed around my work ethic, not to mention my business model. I worked longer hours and twice as hard, I would sell my toilet paper door to door and roll by roll if I had too, but I would make it work.
And I did.
I never became rich, but I pulled my small business out of the hole and made a small profit after a while. By the time I sold the business in the late 90’s I was doing pretty well. An early retirement is what I had aimed for and that is exactly what I got.
The moral of the story, if there is one, is that if life hands you toilet paper to wipe with, us it, and if life hands you poison ivy, just remember not to scratch when it starts to itch. I know that might not make a lot of sense to most people, but it makes perfect sense to me, just noodle on it for a bit and it will eventually make sense to you too.
You’re Governorship
Here is the letter I said I was going to write to the Govenor concerning bathroom safty:
You’re Governorship,
I would like to thank you for taking the time and reading my letter concerning a matter which has been, up until now, largely ignored. It is a subject matter that every man is a victim of and one which has caused much discomfort, unease, and unnecessary stress. I am of course talking about bathroom etiquette.
As I am sure you are well aware, proper bathroom etiquette dictates that at no time should any man occupy a urinal that is immediately occupied by someone else either to the right or to the left of his urinal of choice. As I am also sure you are very much well aware is that the most common configuration of urinals in any place of business is the three urinal system where two full sized urinals exists one right next to the other and then a “kiddy” stall on the end usually placed in the left most position.
Bathroom etiquette mixed with this configuration of urinals along with the fact that it is male tendency to always use the center stall (a.k.a. The Kings Thrown, Urinal of Honor or, if you are Canadian, The Post Molson Brewery) creates a stressful and health threatening situations where some unlucky male who has to use the urinals rather urgently could find that the center urinal is occupied leaving him no other urinal to relive himself.
My proposal is that a law be passed where by all public buildings and business buildings be required to have bathrooms here no fewer than four urinals be present. In this scenario not only will most if not all cases of urgent bathroom use be satisfied, but also, the “Kings Thrown” scenario will also be eliminated ensuring that an available urinal will be present for any additional occupants of the bathroom when it is needed.
I would like to thank you once again for taking the time to read my letter and I look forward to your response. With your help we can make men’s bathrooms across the state a safer, healthier place that all men can once again enjoy. This, along with another proposal that I will discuss in a future letter – the outlawing of “hands free relief” style of urinating, an unacceptable style of bathroom showboating – we can, together, increase bathroom sanitation as well.
Again, thank you and Godspeed
You’re Governorship,
I would like to thank you for taking the time and reading my letter concerning a matter which has been, up until now, largely ignored. It is a subject matter that every man is a victim of and one which has caused much discomfort, unease, and unnecessary stress. I am of course talking about bathroom etiquette.
As I am sure you are well aware, proper bathroom etiquette dictates that at no time should any man occupy a urinal that is immediately occupied by someone else either to the right or to the left of his urinal of choice. As I am also sure you are very much well aware is that the most common configuration of urinals in any place of business is the three urinal system where two full sized urinals exists one right next to the other and then a “kiddy” stall on the end usually placed in the left most position.
Bathroom etiquette mixed with this configuration of urinals along with the fact that it is male tendency to always use the center stall (a.k.a. The Kings Thrown, Urinal of Honor or, if you are Canadian, The Post Molson Brewery) creates a stressful and health threatening situations where some unlucky male who has to use the urinals rather urgently could find that the center urinal is occupied leaving him no other urinal to relive himself.
My proposal is that a law be passed where by all public buildings and business buildings be required to have bathrooms here no fewer than four urinals be present. In this scenario not only will most if not all cases of urgent bathroom use be satisfied, but also, the “Kings Thrown” scenario will also be eliminated ensuring that an available urinal will be present for any additional occupants of the bathroom when it is needed.
I would like to thank you once again for taking the time to read my letter and I look forward to your response. With your help we can make men’s bathrooms across the state a safer, healthier place that all men can once again enjoy. This, along with another proposal that I will discuss in a future letter – the outlawing of “hands free relief” style of urinating, an unacceptable style of bathroom showboating – we can, together, increase bathroom sanitation as well.
Again, thank you and Godspeed
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Here's some love
It’s time for a revolution
Don’t need no paper to write my resolution
Save your paper and save your pen
Flush them away for you’ll never need them again
This line contains the simple word grass
Just so I have something to rhyme with the word ass
A freshly painted wall in a bathroom is such a tease
Especially for Toilet Bowl who rhymes with such ease
From New York to Los Angeles and from Chicago to El Paso
My bathroom wall revolution will grab you like a giant Texan lasso
Some may call me silly some may call me dumb
I don’t care you all can kiss my bum
So the next time you may be out west
Look for poetry by Toilet Bowl for he is the best
Don’t need no paper to write my resolution
Save your paper and save your pen
Flush them away for you’ll never need them again
This line contains the simple word grass
Just so I have something to rhyme with the word ass
A freshly painted wall in a bathroom is such a tease
Especially for Toilet Bowl who rhymes with such ease
From New York to Los Angeles and from Chicago to El Paso
My bathroom wall revolution will grab you like a giant Texan lasso
Some may call me silly some may call me dumb
I don’t care you all can kiss my bum
So the next time you may be out west
Look for poetry by Toilet Bowl for he is the best
--Toilet Bowl
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
A man walks into a restroom
So I came across a blog discussing bathroom etiquette. The whole thesis of the article was about given the option of three unoccupied urinals which would you choose? The very act of choosing a urinal has been a dilemma for many a man for centuries, but in light of this article I really must say that the decision is a no brainier - always choose the middle.
As this blog pointed out by choosing the middle urinal you are letting every male who comes into the bathroom after you that you are "King" and that for all he is concerned the two remaining urinals are not available for no other reason that bathroom protocol which stipulates - and which may go against the thesis in this bathroom wall etiquette blog entry - that at no time shall one man ever - EVER! - use a urinal next to another that is occupied. In the three urinal system - which is most common - this means that at any one time one, and only one, urinal can be in use. If, on the off chance, that someone decides to use one of the urinals while you are there this may be seen as "suspicious," and indicates one of two things:
1)You may have a Larry Craig situation on your hands, in which case you need to finish up and get the hell out of there as quick as possible - don't bother washing your hands.
2)The other guy must have to pee real bad and while he will look like a big pussy in the eyes of the world for braking bathroom procedural rules anyone, including myself, will not look down to harshly on him. I have had too pee real bad at times too and could not wait.
It is because of this dilemma that I have decided that action needs to be taken and is why I have made this blog entry to notify my devout followers out there that I plan on writing my State Governor and demanding that all bathrooms have at least four stalls available at all times. In this manner, at least, two men will be able to use the restroom at any given time and this will also remove the "Kings Urinal" scenario eliminating some of the uneasy men bathroom stress.
I have yet to write this letter but when I do I will post it for all to see and peruse. Until then. . .
As this blog pointed out by choosing the middle urinal you are letting every male who comes into the bathroom after you that you are "King" and that for all he is concerned the two remaining urinals are not available for no other reason that bathroom protocol which stipulates - and which may go against the thesis in this bathroom wall etiquette blog entry - that at no time shall one man ever - EVER! - use a urinal next to another that is occupied. In the three urinal system - which is most common - this means that at any one time one, and only one, urinal can be in use. If, on the off chance, that someone decides to use one of the urinals while you are there this may be seen as "suspicious," and indicates one of two things:
1)You may have a Larry Craig situation on your hands, in which case you need to finish up and get the hell out of there as quick as possible - don't bother washing your hands.
2)The other guy must have to pee real bad and while he will look like a big pussy in the eyes of the world for braking bathroom procedural rules anyone, including myself, will not look down to harshly on him. I have had too pee real bad at times too and could not wait.
It is because of this dilemma that I have decided that action needs to be taken and is why I have made this blog entry to notify my devout followers out there that I plan on writing my State Governor and demanding that all bathrooms have at least four stalls available at all times. In this manner, at least, two men will be able to use the restroom at any given time and this will also remove the "Kings Urinal" scenario eliminating some of the uneasy men bathroom stress.
I have yet to write this letter but when I do I will post it for all to see and peruse. Until then. . .
Saturday, May 3, 2008
No news is. . .no news
I have decided that there is nothing interesting happening in the world anymore. Oh, sure this is Iraq and an upcoming election, and the world keeps on trying to prove to me that Britney Spears can sing, but I still don't see it, not to mention that this Dr. Phil guy is still hanging around thanks to some gift of misattributed fame that all of us keep feeding into. I may not know much but what I do know is that Dr. Phil is no doctor - he may be a lot of things, but a doctor he is not.
This is why I have decided to create my own news headlines. Sure none of what I am about to say is real even in the biggest stretch of the imagination, but who cares, most of the shit I see on CNN and Fox barley qualifies as news and yet they still broadcast it, so it is my turn. This will give me the opportunity to have some fun and hopefully you all out there will have a few good laughs during the whole process.
Today in Canton, Ohio a man angry at his neighbors dog threatens to "staple it's ass shut" but, he ends up getting side tracked and staples his own ass shut instead.
On the Eastern coast today a man reported spotting a UFO that hovered for several minutes outside his bedroom window. Upon calling the police they discovered a rather large stock pile of hallucinogenic drugs including LSD. The man claims his drug use had nothing to do with his UFO sighting and that the drugs were compensation given to him by aliens for medical experiences they performed on him the month before.
Today a handful of colleges across the country announced that they would allow coed dorm rooms. Should parents be concerned? No! It just means that you son or daughter will now not have to travel across campus or across town in order to have sex.
*In related news, parents are now sending their children off to college with vast supplies of condoms.
*In related news, Trojan has announced earnings above what was expected for this quarter.
*In related news, Billy here still can't get laid
*In unrelated news Backstreet boys still suck no matter how long they have been around. No amount of alcohol can ever change that.
Friday, May 2, 2008
undie Castaway or Rodeo
It's that place that holds something special inside your heart
It's that place you know you'll soon need after a big 'ol fart
Only a few miles until you'll really have to go
To some gas station bathroom to watch the poo poo rodeo
Rodeo; keep on hangin' on
Rodeo; remember to flush before movin' on
So, now, whenever the road stretches miles ahead
Rest easy knowing a toilet down the road is waiting to be fed
Just pull down your britches and deliver it with ease
Or crap on the side of the road for all the world to see
Rodeo; go away undie castaway
Rodeo; that's my story and all I have to say
It's that place you know you'll soon need after a big 'ol fart
Only a few miles until you'll really have to go
To some gas station bathroom to watch the poo poo rodeo
Rodeo; keep on hangin' on
Rodeo; remember to flush before movin' on
So, now, whenever the road stretches miles ahead
Rest easy knowing a toilet down the road is waiting to be fed
Just pull down your britches and deliver it with ease
Or crap on the side of the road for all the world to see
Rodeo; go away undie castaway
Rodeo; that's my story and all I have to say
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Douglas Bruse - Colorado House Representative
Colorado is a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful place to live, but when it comes to politics it is a mad, mad, mad, mad world.
Sure we have your run of the mill politician who is always pocking his head where is doesn’t belong – pun intended. For example, Michael Garcia who felt some strange urge to whip it out and exposed himself to a female lobbyist. Garcia claims that the act was consensual, sure it was. In the game of “who’s the dog and who’s the fire hydrant tonight,” it’s easy to get upset if you’re always the fire hydrant. Apparently this lobbyist had had enough and wanted to be the dog for once – arf.
However, not many states can claim to have a Douglas Bruce character like Colorado has, who’s antics will land him in the “Politicians Gone Wild” hall of fame along with the “Not on my dress” award.
Bruce, who took over for Bill Cadman who left for the Senate, is best known to date (a time span totaling almost five months now as a House member) for kicking a Rocky Mountain News photographer on the day he was sworn in as a House member. Yeah, first day on the job and you kick a member of the press, not good. Then, last week Bruce, on the House floor, said that all immigrants are “illiterate peasants.” Bruce, as you can imagine - considering what kind of person you would have to be to make such a comment in the first place - failed to see why the comment is being taken as racist.
And finally the sexual harassment charge.
So, as you can see, many other states maybe have politicians who have had sexual charges filled against them, but no other state – that I know of – has a politician that is a racist, batterer, and who is being charged with sexual harassment.
Ain’t he a gem, we Coloradoans should be proud!
I would like to tell you a story of a man named Bruce
Colorado Representative couldn't hold a truce
Then one day as he was getting sworn in
Kicked a Rocky Mountain News photographer right in the chin
Douglas that is, batterer, racist and now sexual harasser
Now, the next thing you all know
The House is voting for him to shut his filthy hole
Said: "In restraints is where you aught to be"
So they took a vote to hush 'em up which passed easily
63-1, "illiterate peasants," tax fraud, and yes, he's still a racist
Sure we have your run of the mill politician who is always pocking his head where is doesn’t belong – pun intended. For example, Michael Garcia who felt some strange urge to whip it out and exposed himself to a female lobbyist. Garcia claims that the act was consensual, sure it was. In the game of “who’s the dog and who’s the fire hydrant tonight,” it’s easy to get upset if you’re always the fire hydrant. Apparently this lobbyist had had enough and wanted to be the dog for once – arf.
However, not many states can claim to have a Douglas Bruce character like Colorado has, who’s antics will land him in the “Politicians Gone Wild” hall of fame along with the “Not on my dress” award.
Bruce, who took over for Bill Cadman who left for the Senate, is best known to date (a time span totaling almost five months now as a House member) for kicking a Rocky Mountain News photographer on the day he was sworn in as a House member. Yeah, first day on the job and you kick a member of the press, not good. Then, last week Bruce, on the House floor, said that all immigrants are “illiterate peasants.” Bruce, as you can imagine - considering what kind of person you would have to be to make such a comment in the first place - failed to see why the comment is being taken as racist.
And finally the sexual harassment charge.
So, as you can see, many other states maybe have politicians who have had sexual charges filled against them, but no other state – that I know of – has a politician that is a racist, batterer, and who is being charged with sexual harassment.
Ain’t he a gem, we Coloradoans should be proud!
I would like to tell you a story of a man named Bruce
Colorado Representative couldn't hold a truce
Then one day as he was getting sworn in
Kicked a Rocky Mountain News photographer right in the chin
Douglas that is, batterer, racist and now sexual harasser
Now, the next thing you all know
The House is voting for him to shut his filthy hole
Said: "In restraints is where you aught to be"
So they took a vote to hush 'em up which passed easily
63-1, "illiterate peasants," tax fraud, and yes, he's still a racist
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Boring
I woke up this morning uninspired and with no foreseeable task to fill my day that was until I opened up my email box. There I found a letter from some schmoe in Africa claiming to be an auditor at a bank. I’m sure you all know the scenario: some poor schlep who at one time held an account with the bank died tragically and left behind a huge sum of money and unless that money is claimed by a next of kin it simply rolls over into some vacuum fund within the bank and disappears forever.
As I am sure you also know – at least you should know this – is that this is a scam. What happens is you get pulled in by this con by being promised a cut from this huge some of money and all you have to do is sign some official looking paper work declaring you as the next of kin (oh, and give them your personal banking account number, you know, so they can transfer the money from their account to yours) and then just sit back a you get rich. Of course, if you fall for it instead of finding our bank account overflowing with millions and millions of dollars you will find it drained completely. Anyway I decided to write one of these guys back and have a little fun. Here is what I wrote hope you enjoy and will keep you posted of any further developments.
I have received your email along with your business proposition and while I find your offer tempting I must concede that I am apprehensive since what you are proposing seems rather illegal. Issues of legality don’t bother me, but doing prison time does. I know that this may not improve my standing in your eyes, but I am myself a criminal, and without going into too much depth about my past let me only say this, we must proceed carefully in such matters. So, my kind sir, what I would like to know from you before our business association proceeds any further is:
1) Is what you are proposing legal? If it is there is no problem? If it is not legal than how do you plan on accomplishing such a feet?
2) What assurances do I have from you that I will get my money?
I wanted not to live a life of crime but I had to leave my native Austria behind some time ago because of, well, shall we say some unscrupulous business transactions. So, as you can see I am not without concern. Now, I have a made a life for myself in a legal manner – well, mostly, but you know how it is my dear chap – in Canada. The weather here is cold, but the women keep me worm and the bacon is excellent.
I would also like to inquire about the business expenses that will consume 10% of our profits. 35% of 13.5M is quite adequate but a number over 40% would be more to my liking. Lesson number one in business, my friend: lower expenses and increase profits.
Please right me back, my dear sir, and be not afraid because of whom I have confessed to be. My intentions are the same as yours – to become rich.
Kindly,
Marcus A. DiAngelo III
As I am sure you also know – at least you should know this – is that this is a scam. What happens is you get pulled in by this con by being promised a cut from this huge some of money and all you have to do is sign some official looking paper work declaring you as the next of kin (oh, and give them your personal banking account number, you know, so they can transfer the money from their account to yours) and then just sit back a you get rich. Of course, if you fall for it instead of finding our bank account overflowing with millions and millions of dollars you will find it drained completely. Anyway I decided to write one of these guys back and have a little fun. Here is what I wrote hope you enjoy and will keep you posted of any further developments.
I have received your email along with your business proposition and while I find your offer tempting I must concede that I am apprehensive since what you are proposing seems rather illegal. Issues of legality don’t bother me, but doing prison time does. I know that this may not improve my standing in your eyes, but I am myself a criminal, and without going into too much depth about my past let me only say this, we must proceed carefully in such matters. So, my kind sir, what I would like to know from you before our business association proceeds any further is:
1) Is what you are proposing legal? If it is there is no problem? If it is not legal than how do you plan on accomplishing such a feet?
2) What assurances do I have from you that I will get my money?
I wanted not to live a life of crime but I had to leave my native Austria behind some time ago because of, well, shall we say some unscrupulous business transactions. So, as you can see I am not without concern. Now, I have a made a life for myself in a legal manner – well, mostly, but you know how it is my dear chap – in Canada. The weather here is cold, but the women keep me worm and the bacon is excellent.
I would also like to inquire about the business expenses that will consume 10% of our profits. 35% of 13.5M is quite adequate but a number over 40% would be more to my liking. Lesson number one in business, my friend: lower expenses and increase profits.
Please right me back, my dear sir, and be not afraid because of whom I have confessed to be. My intentions are the same as yours – to become rich.
Kindly,
Marcus A. DiAngelo III
Saturday, April 26, 2008
News Alert:
The Justice System of The United States uses Penis pumps.
*This is of course a response to the three NYC police officers who shot and killed a man hours before his wedding. Now I realize that maybe excessive force is called for in some cases, but being shot by 50 bullets is not self defence - sorry.
*This is of course a response to the three NYC police officers who shot and killed a man hours before his wedding. Now I realize that maybe excessive force is called for in some cases, but being shot by 50 bullets is not self defence - sorry.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Hey Cuz
So apparently we all have that cousin - the one who has no name and is referred to to only as "a cousin" and instantly brings to mind obscene drunkenness, funny and sometimes embarrassing situations and, of course, is described by family and friends as someone who is "not all there." This person is, none the less, is someone who's company you enjoy thoroughly and someone who you look forward to seeing you next time through town and to the next encounter and the mayhem it will bring.
I only bring this up because of a reference my boss made to his cousin - a man who not only has incriminated himself in a a court of law but also made it a point to gain enough weight to reach three hundred pounds just as a personal challenge to see if he could. It reminded my of my cousin and how, whenever I hit a low period in my life like the one I am wading through right now, all I have to do is think of all the stupid shit we have done and I start to laugh hysterically and I realize that it will all be OK.
So, to the person in all of our lives that has failed to return your favorite Grand Theft Auto video game, or gotten drunk at your wedding and harassed all of the brides maids, or who has dragged you - in middle of the night - up the side of Longs Peak only to stop and sleep half way up the mountain amongst a sworn of bats flying over head; this is to you and all the good times you have had and to all the good times that are yet to come - cheers.
See you this summer, Cuz, where it will be my turn to get drunk at your wedding.
I only bring this up because of a reference my boss made to his cousin - a man who not only has incriminated himself in a a court of law but also made it a point to gain enough weight to reach three hundred pounds just as a personal challenge to see if he could. It reminded my of my cousin and how, whenever I hit a low period in my life like the one I am wading through right now, all I have to do is think of all the stupid shit we have done and I start to laugh hysterically and I realize that it will all be OK.
So, to the person in all of our lives that has failed to return your favorite Grand Theft Auto video game, or gotten drunk at your wedding and harassed all of the brides maids, or who has dragged you - in middle of the night - up the side of Longs Peak only to stop and sleep half way up the mountain amongst a sworn of bats flying over head; this is to you and all the good times you have had and to all the good times that are yet to come - cheers.
See you this summer, Cuz, where it will be my turn to get drunk at your wedding.
Pants full of shit
There's a rockin' and a rollin'
Toilet bowl keeps overflowin'
All the way to my feet and up to my knees
I let a loud one rip, didn't get a grip
Fell in past my waist and splashed in my face
Kids screaming down the hall
Was just smokin' a menthol
And just as I walked in
I realized I forgot my pen
Ideas spilling forth
I guess I pushed with too much force
The wife screamin' somethin'
But according to her I know nothin'
And now I'm lookin' to wipe
But all the toilet paper has been swiped
Now it feels like I'm packin'
A bazooka in my back end
With my pants full of shit
I walk out to take another hit
Toilet bowl keeps overflowin'
All the way to my feet and up to my knees
I let a loud one rip, didn't get a grip
Fell in past my waist and splashed in my face
Kids screaming down the hall
Was just smokin' a menthol
And just as I walked in
I realized I forgot my pen
Ideas spilling forth
I guess I pushed with too much force
The wife screamin' somethin'
But according to her I know nothin'
And now I'm lookin' to wipe
But all the toilet paper has been swiped
Now it feels like I'm packin'
A bazooka in my back end
With my pants full of shit
I walk out to take another hit
--Toilet Bowl
*I wrote this as a result of "stuff" that is going on in my life at the moment. Just an ode to how when it rains it pours.
Survival Sentence
I am increasingly of the opinion that George Carlin is right, that we should round up all of this countries dangerous criminals and place them in one large fenced off area - for the sake of argument, lets call this area "Texas" - and give them all the guns and ammunition that they need to defend themselves. It's not a death sentence, it's a survival sentence. If this countries justice system wasn't so screwed up as to place a large percentage of innocent people into jail while at the same time letting many guilty free, if their wallets are large enough, then I would be all for the idea.
But that just isn't the case and that vision of Utopia may never come to be reality, instead we will have to live with our current Distopia. But what about the blatantly dumb people of this world who display their stupidity for all of the world to see while at the same time go around promoting a coarse of action that is, well, just fucking frightening. Isn't there something we can do about them?
Eric Thompson is a prime example of this sort of thought process. Thompson is the man who owns TGSCOM, an online gun store that sold hand guns to both the Virginia Tech shooter, Seung-Hui Cho, and the Northern Illinois University gunman, Steven Kazmierczak. This example of Midwestern inbreeding spoke yesterday at Virginia Tech promoting gun concealment on campuses across the country. It appears that his visit to the campus was almost unknown to anyone other than concealed gun supporters who he spoke in front of and who numbered less than 50. I imagine that this was a good thing for his sake as many would have liked to show Mr. Thompson that you don't need a gun to kill someone, all you need is your fists, or in the case of the Virginia Tech student body, many, many fists.
If there was ever been a clearer case of someone more deserving to partake in my experiment of "Survival Justice" I have not seen it.
But that just isn't the case and that vision of Utopia may never come to be reality, instead we will have to live with our current Distopia. But what about the blatantly dumb people of this world who display their stupidity for all of the world to see while at the same time go around promoting a coarse of action that is, well, just fucking frightening. Isn't there something we can do about them?
Eric Thompson is a prime example of this sort of thought process. Thompson is the man who owns TGSCOM, an online gun store that sold hand guns to both the Virginia Tech shooter, Seung-Hui Cho, and the Northern Illinois University gunman, Steven Kazmierczak. This example of Midwestern inbreeding spoke yesterday at Virginia Tech promoting gun concealment on campuses across the country. It appears that his visit to the campus was almost unknown to anyone other than concealed gun supporters who he spoke in front of and who numbered less than 50. I imagine that this was a good thing for his sake as many would have liked to show Mr. Thompson that you don't need a gun to kill someone, all you need is your fists, or in the case of the Virginia Tech student body, many, many fists.
If there was ever been a clearer case of someone more deserving to partake in my experiment of "Survival Justice" I have not seen it.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Only In Boulder
What happens when you bring 10,000 hippies, dread heads, college students and *Quote Normal *Unquote people all together in on of the most culturally diverse city - Boulder, Colorado - on the planet? That's right a Ganja marathon to see who can smoke not only the most ganja and how quick, but also see who can resists the temptation to start before the magical hour of 4:20 PM arrives - to date there have been zero winners.
We are are talking about pot heads after all, which might explain why there are no winners - hell, your average pot head is only aware of the munchies most of the time, the rest of the time they are sitting around not washing their hair and listening to lame music like The Doors, Led Zeppelin, and Carrie Underwood. But the festivarians come out year after year to entomb the city of Boulder in and new kind of smog that can be enjoyed instead of annoyed by all.
Even the local law enforcement has a hand in extracurricular festival activities. Two years ago lucky enough goers who provided their own weed were provided free drinks all thanks to the local popo who were kind enough to turn on the sprinklers. Last year they provided free pictures of all the fun to be had by the pot heads and even posted them on the city website for all to see and enjoy. They even turned it into a game, if you could name that tocker you could win $50.
You have to love the Peoples Republic of Boulder. Smoke on festivarians, smoke on. . .
Hope to see ya all there next year - the date and time is easy to remember 4:20 PM on April 20.
We are are talking about pot heads after all, which might explain why there are no winners - hell, your average pot head is only aware of the munchies most of the time, the rest of the time they are sitting around not washing their hair and listening to lame music like The Doors, Led Zeppelin, and Carrie Underwood. But the festivarians come out year after year to entomb the city of Boulder in and new kind of smog that can be enjoyed instead of annoyed by all.
Even the local law enforcement has a hand in extracurricular festival activities. Two years ago lucky enough goers who provided their own weed were provided free drinks all thanks to the local popo who were kind enough to turn on the sprinklers. Last year they provided free pictures of all the fun to be had by the pot heads and even posted them on the city website for all to see and enjoy. They even turned it into a game, if you could name that tocker you could win $50.
You have to love the Peoples Republic of Boulder. Smoke on festivarians, smoke on. . .
Hope to see ya all there next year - the date and time is easy to remember 4:20 PM on April 20.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Bush and the Pope
So I was catching up on the news and reading the Thursday edition of the Wall Street Journal. On the side bar in the "What's News" there was a little blurb about how President Bush and Pope Benedict have similar views on freedom and morality. And then they wonder why they used to burn Christians at the stake. I was raised in a Catholic household and don't see eye to eye on a lot of things with other Catholics - or any religion for that matter - but I would never say that I had similar views on anything with President Bush. Not because I feel the man is a genetic experiment gone horribly wrong but because I don't think there is anything that we could agree on. I mean, I believe in. . .in. . .human rights and he doesn't. That's a pretty big gap to try and overcome. Given the chance I feel pretty confident that the man would nuke Canada for no other reason that they talk funny.
How ironic
Just finished watching a news feed on CNN about the filming of a girl beating another girl. I really can't say that I have been following ALL the news lately, but I am pretty sure there was a similar case earlier this week regarding one girl beating another and video taping it and then posting it on YouTube. Now I thinking I understand all that is wrong with this situation, but let me do a re-hashing just so we can make sure that I have all my I's dotted and T's crossed.
1) There is the basic issue of someone wanting to video tape such an event. Why would anyone want to video tape such a thing unless they found it something exciting to watch over and over again and felt that others would feel the same way. A definite statement about how our culture is hypnotized by violence, but also the fact that we feel a need to document all our moral shortcomings so we can re-hash them over and over for all the world to see.
2) Just as obvious is the fact that these people - and it never really has been restricted to these two little girls, this has been going on for far to long - see no problem with the fact that another needs to suffer in order for them to make there snuff film. But maybe if you took away the video camera they would have done it anyway just because they enjoyed it - I know there are plenty of people out there sick enough to do it.
3) Lastly there is the fact that girls, despite the fact that they must have realized that video taping such an event and then placing in a forum where all could see would land them in a world of trouble and yet they did it anyway. I can only imagine that was because the punishment wasn't enough to counter balance whatever hero worship they would get from their fellow students after they watched the film - again saying something about all of this countries current youth. Hell, and us grown ups as well.
Now, you have to ask yourself why? Stumbling over such a film must be an absolutely shocking experience for a parent, family relative - whoever - to find. Even if you are someone who doesn't know any of the children in the film it must be shocking - I sure as shit was shocked.
But in the end these pre-teen girls got - I would imagine - what they wanted in the first place - to be famous. CNN aired the video on their website. Yes, add fuel to the fire. And then we wonder why people would do such a thing? Yes, why indeed?
I was so disturbed by this that while eating a local Denny's, when I went to use the bathroom I had a perfectly good white bathroom stall just ripe for the writing and I came up with nothing. On top of that I went to the bathroom in the first place because I actually had to use the bathroom and in the end all I could muster was a hefty fart.
1) There is the basic issue of someone wanting to video tape such an event. Why would anyone want to video tape such a thing unless they found it something exciting to watch over and over again and felt that others would feel the same way. A definite statement about how our culture is hypnotized by violence, but also the fact that we feel a need to document all our moral shortcomings so we can re-hash them over and over for all the world to see.
2) Just as obvious is the fact that these people - and it never really has been restricted to these two little girls, this has been going on for far to long - see no problem with the fact that another needs to suffer in order for them to make there snuff film. But maybe if you took away the video camera they would have done it anyway just because they enjoyed it - I know there are plenty of people out there sick enough to do it.
3) Lastly there is the fact that girls, despite the fact that they must have realized that video taping such an event and then placing in a forum where all could see would land them in a world of trouble and yet they did it anyway. I can only imagine that was because the punishment wasn't enough to counter balance whatever hero worship they would get from their fellow students after they watched the film - again saying something about all of this countries current youth. Hell, and us grown ups as well.
Now, you have to ask yourself why? Stumbling over such a film must be an absolutely shocking experience for a parent, family relative - whoever - to find. Even if you are someone who doesn't know any of the children in the film it must be shocking - I sure as shit was shocked.
But in the end these pre-teen girls got - I would imagine - what they wanted in the first place - to be famous. CNN aired the video on their website. Yes, add fuel to the fire. And then we wonder why people would do such a thing? Yes, why indeed?
I was so disturbed by this that while eating a local Denny's, when I went to use the bathroom I had a perfectly good white bathroom stall just ripe for the writing and I came up with nothing. On top of that I went to the bathroom in the first place because I actually had to use the bathroom and in the end all I could muster was a hefty fart.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Your first date with me and my friend
It was a Saturday night on the first
I was so nervious I thought I would burst
Sitting in the booth with you I tried to hold it in
After I let it loose I felt much a-chagrin
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
You thought that it would be just you and me
But the fact that I didn't crap my pants filled me with glee
After that I slid over in the booth placing a hand on your knee
But my friend crep up and said hello - the friend you could not see
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
After that your eyes rolled back inside your head
Thankfully when you passed out you slumpted over face first onto the bread
The next morning you woke-up filled with dread
I think you were surprised to be waking up in my bed
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
After that I never did see you again
I still think about you every now and again
But I'm not the only one, so does my friend
*this is a new work that can't be found anywhere - not on any bathroom wall, enjoy.
I was so nervious I thought I would burst
Sitting in the booth with you I tried to hold it in
After I let it loose I felt much a-chagrin
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
You thought that it would be just you and me
But the fact that I didn't crap my pants filled me with glee
After that I slid over in the booth placing a hand on your knee
But my friend crep up and said hello - the friend you could not see
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
After that your eyes rolled back inside your head
Thankfully when you passed out you slumpted over face first onto the bread
The next morning you woke-up filled with dread
I think you were surprised to be waking up in my bed
This was your first date
Your first date with me and my friend
After that I never did see you again
I still think about you every now and again
But I'm not the only one, so does my friend
*this is a new work that can't be found anywhere - not on any bathroom wall, enjoy.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
This means war
This morning just after I got to work I received a mysterious phone call from a women with an Indian accent saying that she had an urgent business matter to discuss with me. After I looked around on the Internet I discovered that the phone number was associated with DIRECTV.
*And just to be clear and dispel and confusion that might arise from what I said yesterday about about changing names to protect the innocent, that excludes DIRECTV. When I say DIRECTV I mean DIRECTV - the unholy Satan Spawn of the satellite TV universe and ass pirate corporation extraordinaire.
Since I love DIRECTV so much (as if you couldn't tell by the illustrious light that I shined on them in the above side bar) I called the lady back. She made reference to a $100 early cancellation fee which DIRECTV says I owe and which I say I don't, but before she got to much further into our conversation I hung up. It's to long of a story to repeat - I have repeated it to many timed to count - but the skinny is that you all out there in Internet land should stay the hell away from DIRECTV, unless that is of course you don't value your money situation at all, then by all means sign-up for their shitty service and sit back and watch as the extraneous fees start arriving in the mail. Eventually the harassing phone calls will start and soon after that your monthly rate will be hiked up so high that you'll probably end up with a bill higher than your rent or house payment.
This all throws me back to '86 and the final days of Uranus tissue paper products Inc. and to one particular customer that I lost because he claimed that by buying my product he was throwing money down the toilet - duh. When I asked what he was going to do about paper products for the restrooms in the hotel chains that he owned he simply replied: "we'll have to do without."
I bring this up because he was throwing money down the toilet by buying my product - no shit Sherlock - and I feel the same way about paying money for DIRECTV's service. Sure you get all the channels but every months you have to wonder if the pain and suffering that goes along with looking at all the money you are paying for that service is worth it knowing full well that it's not worth half of what is printed on that piece of paper. That's not money pain folks that pain from the realization that you are being had by one of the all time corrupt companies and there is nothing you can do about it, because by the time you realized who you were dealing with you are stuck with your two year contract and no way out.
It wasn't long after my business associate pulled the plug that he went belly-up. I can't say that it was all because he stopped proving tissue paper for his bathrooms, but I like to think so. And some day when DIRECTV goes belly-up I would like to think that I had a hand in it, because in my view of the world there isn't enough room for another corrupt company that tries their darnedest to dip a few extra times into the nowhere near bottomless pocket of America's middle class, there are already to many companies like that and now there is another one to add to the list - everybody say hello to their newest member - DIRECTV. DIRECTV this poem is for you and will be coming to a bathroom wall very, very soon:
Oh DIRECTV, Oh DIRECTV
I hate you u more than gonorrhea or HIV
You ripped me off and than spit on me
And then you charged me a bs late cancellation fee
Your service was never that good to begin with
I hope now that you have me bent over you are getting a real good whiff
Oh DIRECTV, Oh DIRECTV
Basic cable came with no porn which is why I switched to service with thee
That fact that you even exist just shows how much God must hate me
Having service with DIRECTV is like having a bladder stone and than talking a real long pee
If you are a customer of you know who
Get out now before they rub your face in poo and make you eat it too
*And just to be clear and dispel and confusion that might arise from what I said yesterday about about changing names to protect the innocent, that excludes DIRECTV. When I say DIRECTV I mean DIRECTV - the unholy Satan Spawn of the satellite TV universe and ass pirate corporation extraordinaire.
Since I love DIRECTV so much (as if you couldn't tell by the illustrious light that I shined on them in the above side bar) I called the lady back. She made reference to a $100 early cancellation fee which DIRECTV says I owe and which I say I don't, but before she got to much further into our conversation I hung up. It's to long of a story to repeat - I have repeated it to many timed to count - but the skinny is that you all out there in Internet land should stay the hell away from DIRECTV, unless that is of course you don't value your money situation at all, then by all means sign-up for their shitty service and sit back and watch as the extraneous fees start arriving in the mail. Eventually the harassing phone calls will start and soon after that your monthly rate will be hiked up so high that you'll probably end up with a bill higher than your rent or house payment.
This all throws me back to '86 and the final days of Uranus tissue paper products Inc. and to one particular customer that I lost because he claimed that by buying my product he was throwing money down the toilet - duh. When I asked what he was going to do about paper products for the restrooms in the hotel chains that he owned he simply replied: "we'll have to do without."
I bring this up because he was throwing money down the toilet by buying my product - no shit Sherlock - and I feel the same way about paying money for DIRECTV's service. Sure you get all the channels but every months you have to wonder if the pain and suffering that goes along with looking at all the money you are paying for that service is worth it knowing full well that it's not worth half of what is printed on that piece of paper. That's not money pain folks that pain from the realization that you are being had by one of the all time corrupt companies and there is nothing you can do about it, because by the time you realized who you were dealing with you are stuck with your two year contract and no way out.
It wasn't long after my business associate pulled the plug that he went belly-up. I can't say that it was all because he stopped proving tissue paper for his bathrooms, but I like to think so. And some day when DIRECTV goes belly-up I would like to think that I had a hand in it, because in my view of the world there isn't enough room for another corrupt company that tries their darnedest to dip a few extra times into the nowhere near bottomless pocket of America's middle class, there are already to many companies like that and now there is another one to add to the list - everybody say hello to their newest member - DIRECTV. DIRECTV this poem is for you and will be coming to a bathroom wall very, very soon:
Oh DIRECTV, Oh DIRECTV
I hate you u more than gonorrhea or HIV
You ripped me off and than spit on me
And then you charged me a bs late cancellation fee
Your service was never that good to begin with
I hope now that you have me bent over you are getting a real good whiff
Oh DIRECTV, Oh DIRECTV
Basic cable came with no porn which is why I switched to service with thee
That fact that you even exist just shows how much God must hate me
Having service with DIRECTV is like having a bladder stone and than talking a real long pee
If you are a customer of you know who
Get out now before they rub your face in poo and make you eat it too
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Everywhere
On the toilet seat you laid in wait
Knowing full well the mirky waters below were your fate
With a fist full of tissue I gave you a nudge
Over the edge you took your plunge
With swirling water and no hesitation
Poo-poo land was your predestination
Now, now matter where I am
I know you are not far away
In every building on every corner
Despite the muddy waters
I know you ain't no goner
Flowing in the sewers beneath our feet
You can be found under every street
Over here and under there and even in my underwear
I know you can be found everywhere
*This is an unpublished work that I wrote back in '74
Knowing full well the mirky waters below were your fate
With a fist full of tissue I gave you a nudge
Over the edge you took your plunge
With swirling water and no hesitation
Poo-poo land was your predestination
Now, now matter where I am
I know you are not far away
In every building on every corner
Despite the muddy waters
I know you ain't no goner
Flowing in the sewers beneath our feet
You can be found under every street
Over here and under there and even in my underwear
I know you can be found everywhere
*This is an unpublished work that I wrote back in '74
The end is near
It's coming, I hate to say it but. . .WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! If you think about it you know that I'm right and if you have already thought about it you know this to be true. We are in the midst of a recession, there is rioting in the streets over food shortages and the World Bank president just yesterday said that 33 countries are in danger of complete and total chaos. Isn't this how World War II got started? Let us see: recession; check, food shortage; check (this is how Hitler consolidated most of his power by providing a starving Germany with food and jobs), crazy leader hell bent on world domination; check.
All we need now is an illegal war that was waged to secure a diminishing energy supply and thus completing the dooms day trio plus one. Oops, I forgot; check. At least we are not using part of the dwindling food supply to offset our unquenchable thirst for energy. Oops again; check. OK, well, at least the chairman for The White House council on Environmental quality - James Connaughton - didn't try and blame a developing country like China (a nuclear power) as part of the cause of the aforementioned food shortage. Fuck me; check.
Well, I guess all that is left if for me to say "Sayonara, bitches. See you on the other side."
All we need now is an illegal war that was waged to secure a diminishing energy supply and thus completing the dooms day trio plus one. Oops, I forgot; check. At least we are not using part of the dwindling food supply to offset our unquenchable thirst for energy. Oops again; check. OK, well, at least the chairman for The White House council on Environmental quality - James Connaughton - didn't try and blame a developing country like China (a nuclear power) as part of the cause of the aforementioned food shortage. Fuck me; check.
Well, I guess all that is left if for me to say "Sayonara, bitches. See you on the other side."
To whom it may concern
Everyone need a dis-claimer and this blog is no different. I mean, really, people are just to sensitive these days. I'm sure that I will say something that will offend someone somewhere down the line and if I do my job right I will offend lots of people all of whom will write me and tell my how big of a moron I am. Hey, whatever, in the end I got to say what I wanted and you got to say what you wanted - everybody wins. Having said that, my dis-claimer is this: To protect the innocent and guilty alike, all names have been changed. Why, you might be asking? Not because this is sensitive material we are talking about here but because the average Tom, Dick, and Harry names are boring and it is fun to come up with new ones. Hell, this isn't news that can't be found anywhere else but here but news that has my own distorted twist. But don't you worry, even though I have changed the names I will still make fun of these people without holding back or rest to my fullest possible extent. Again, why, you might be asking? Because I'm a sick bastard I guess, but then so is the rest of society, so maybe that makes me normal?
Not the answer you were expecting, I know, but so goes the way of life - welcome.
My own name too has been changed to protect the innocent and not because I am a wanted man, and not because I am some kind of gun toting wacko carrying around Dirty Harry's best friend in my back pocket, and certainly not because I have deep pocketed connections to certain individuals in Washington who might like to see me dead if they found out I was ranting on a blog. I have changed my name because - believe it or not - I am famous. Well, I should say that I am famous for not being famous when I should have been famous. I have a claim to fame that no one else can claim - I invented bathroom wall poetry. Yes, you can call me Jubilant Echo or Toilet Bowl if you prefer.
But I am not angry for my lack of fame - no, no, no. I could care less if I am famous or not, which is why I choose to remain anonymous. But I do care about the art form which I lovingly gave birth too and want to see it grow and neutered.
It wasn't me who coined the fraise Just sittin' here ass cheeks-a-flexin, but I did finish it with givin birth to a ten pound Texan. After that, wherever there was a a nicely painted white bathroom wall before I got there, after I left there was only works of art left in its place; poetry that rolled off the tongue:
Just sittin here ass cheeks-a-flexin
Given birth to a ten pound Texan
With pants and undies down around my knees
This is what I get for eating so much cheese
Mary mother and Holy ghost
Toilet Bowl I love the most
I suppose that it's fitting that I would be the one that developed the bathroom wall poetry movement - no pun intended. I say this because I traveled a lot and visited many, many hotels, gas stations, and rest stop bathrooms, I had not only the time but a wide area of exposure to get the ball rolling, that and the fact that I was working on getting a start-up business up and running - Uranus tissue paper products Inc.
I am not arguing that the art form didn't take off after that and that there weren't others who took up the art after me, but none - I like to think - were as original as me. And none were as eloquently mixed in a Shakespearean kinda way or as imaginary like that of a painting by Monet and harmony reminiscent of Bach as well.
I know what you must be thinking right about now - what an extremely pompous thing to say - but I did pretty much single handily start one of American greatest past time activities.
Today I live in Colorado and while I consider myself retired I am not retired. I intend on finishing the work that I started in the sixties - everything that came before was only the beginning. From hence forth I plan on making a bigger ruckus bigger then. . . then. . . then a loud fart in church.
Now, what you will read on this site will not exclusively be bathroom poetry, it will also be opinion pieces, political analysis, berating the stupid, critiques of all that is wrong with humanity, a vetting of the worlds injustice, bathroom sanitation, dissection of world affairs, and of course hygiene - wash your hands afterwards.
It's time that I dusted off my pen and paper. Watch out, because I'm comin' to a bathroom near you.
Not the answer you were expecting, I know, but so goes the way of life - welcome.
My own name too has been changed to protect the innocent and not because I am a wanted man, and not because I am some kind of gun toting wacko carrying around Dirty Harry's best friend in my back pocket, and certainly not because I have deep pocketed connections to certain individuals in Washington who might like to see me dead if they found out I was ranting on a blog. I have changed my name because - believe it or not - I am famous. Well, I should say that I am famous for not being famous when I should have been famous. I have a claim to fame that no one else can claim - I invented bathroom wall poetry. Yes, you can call me Jubilant Echo or Toilet Bowl if you prefer.
But I am not angry for my lack of fame - no, no, no. I could care less if I am famous or not, which is why I choose to remain anonymous. But I do care about the art form which I lovingly gave birth too and want to see it grow and neutered.
It wasn't me who coined the fraise Just sittin' here ass cheeks-a-flexin, but I did finish it with givin birth to a ten pound Texan. After that, wherever there was a a nicely painted white bathroom wall before I got there, after I left there was only works of art left in its place; poetry that rolled off the tongue:
Just sittin here ass cheeks-a-flexin
Given birth to a ten pound Texan
With pants and undies down around my knees
This is what I get for eating so much cheese
Mary mother and Holy ghost
Toilet Bowl I love the most
I suppose that it's fitting that I would be the one that developed the bathroom wall poetry movement - no pun intended. I say this because I traveled a lot and visited many, many hotels, gas stations, and rest stop bathrooms, I had not only the time but a wide area of exposure to get the ball rolling, that and the fact that I was working on getting a start-up business up and running - Uranus tissue paper products Inc.
I am not arguing that the art form didn't take off after that and that there weren't others who took up the art after me, but none - I like to think - were as original as me. And none were as eloquently mixed in a Shakespearean kinda way or as imaginary like that of a painting by Monet and harmony reminiscent of Bach as well.
I know what you must be thinking right about now - what an extremely pompous thing to say - but I did pretty much single handily start one of American greatest past time activities.
Today I live in Colorado and while I consider myself retired I am not retired. I intend on finishing the work that I started in the sixties - everything that came before was only the beginning. From hence forth I plan on making a bigger ruckus bigger then. . . then. . . then a loud fart in church.
Now, what you will read on this site will not exclusively be bathroom poetry, it will also be opinion pieces, political analysis, berating the stupid, critiques of all that is wrong with humanity, a vetting of the worlds injustice, bathroom sanitation, dissection of world affairs, and of course hygiene - wash your hands afterwards.
It's time that I dusted off my pen and paper. Watch out, because I'm comin' to a bathroom near you.
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