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 French

Today a French doctor delcared that we need to all embrace the fart, because it's just not healthy to hold it in.

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

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.

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.

Factoid:

A fart can travel upto 10 feet per second.

Someone wiser than me once said:

A turd can last for an eternity, but a fart instantly passes into history.

Thought of the day:

If I'm not number one in your life, then number two on you.

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.

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

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

--Toilet Bowl

Thought of the day

I'm not unhappy until your unhappy.

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. . .

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.

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

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