I get it. Day jobs suck. You want to fulfill your dream of being a groupie and following “The Mountain Goats” around the country, miking money off your handmade Goat merchandise, but for now you’re suck writing copy for local radio commercials. We’ve all been there. All I ask is you try to put at least 25% effort into your current soul sucking job. I literally heard a guy on the radio describing a new beer from Columbus Brewing say, ” Oh and the aroma of this beer? Well, you can guess.” Well fuck you too. I’m not sure you know how radios work but unless you throw some adjectives in there, yeah, that’s all i can do is guess, sit in my car and assume your product smells like farts and old McDonald’s that fell under the driver seat because that’s what it smells like here, as I sit baffled, in my car.
I will start off by saying before this happened I have never been locked in a bathroom having a panic attack unless a lot of drugs were involved. On this day though I deserved what I got. I was being the guy I hate at work. The guy that’s hungover as hell and shitting up the bathroom. I was in for the long haul when I noticed next to me on the wall was a giant hairy spider. My mind raced as I tried not to scream. Everyone knows that even worse than being the guy at work that shits up the bathroom is they guy that screams while he does it. So I had to bite my lip. I figured maybe if I made no sudden movements he’d make no movement. I was wrong. The smell of me must of really riled this guy up as he started moving all around. His disgusting appendages flailing about. In a panic I decided to pull the ejection cord on this particular twosie. I got up and got the hell out of there. Before I exited I turned back for one final glance at my evictor to find him completely gone. Once again my mind raced as panic started to overtake me. Had he gotten in my pants somehow? Could he have crawled inside me some how? These are all questions I had to ask myself as I made my way back to my desk where I sat in cheek-clenched state of panic the rest of the day.
Now when this rare occasion rises once again I take the office vacuum into the bathroom with me. Not only will it suck up the monsters that dwell within but also cover up my panicked screams while I thwart these beasts. I’m pretty sure my coworkers don’t think it’s weird at all.
I shave my chest and no, I’m not proud of it. I don’t do it for sexy reasons, because I’m a ripped bro at the gym, or even to make myself more aerodynamic for breaking land-speed records. I do it because I have weird chest hair. It’s like my nips have eyebrows, very angry eyebrows. So I figure I have three options here with my body coverings. Run around looking like a weirdo with terrible chest hair, Shave it off and look like a cool chubby baby, or get a full torso tattoo of Spock’s face. Obviously the latter is the coolest choice of all but a bit pricey. Imagine it though, instead of looking like a dummy while I strut around parties/men’s locker rooms with my shirt off. I would be the coolest guy there, the guy with Leonard Nemoy on his chest, with actual fuzzy eyebrows you can pet, eyeballs that can cut glass, and a belly button that can talk but only says, “Live long, and don’t put your finger in here!”
After driving around in West Virginia for what seems like days that never end. Here is my best guess at the top industries in the Ole’ bluegra… hillbill.. southish… mountains.. state.
1. Coal Mining
3. Meth production/ distribution
4. Moonshining (Mooshinin’)
5. Staring down strangers from your front porch as they drive by.
7. Gun Hoarder
8. Publication Author (Anti-government propaganda)
9. Production of “Get off my property!” signs
11. Following/ tailing strangers in a lifted pick up truck
13. Chasing strangers through wooded areas only to tie them up and leave them for dead
14. Civil Engineering
I recently got back from a trip to Chicago with my girlfriend. While it was super fine the big cit can be very confusing to a rube from Ohio like me. Apparently I can’t even drive on a toll road correctly. There were spots to pull over and pay a toll every few miles or you could keep driving straight, so I thought what idiot is going to pull over and pay!?! I guess an idiot that doesn’t want a $120 ticket in the mail 3 weeks after their trip. It was like a nice little reminder of our trip saying, “Hey, glad you came to stay. BTW you owe me money you country bumpkin.
I’ve been peeing in bars for years and have become accustomed to some of the most vile things written on bathroom walls. So now the off-putting thing is to see something congratulatory written on the wall like the picture below. What would compel someone underneath a giant drawing of a dick and some writing that says “If you have a dick I’ll suck it!” to feel the need to congratulate their buddy. I can only assume that he wasn’t even invited to the wedding as this is in a dirty dive bar basement, probably not allowed near the family after that one time he got too drunk, took off his pants and accidentally set fire to their home.
Also what was the best day of his life!?! I’m never going to track down D.C. and find out but COME ON MAN! I got to know! Don’t bury the lead here D.
I have a dream. A dream where we are not separated by our genders. No more separate but equal bathrooms. We can all pee together in harmony. I mean it’s 2014 right? We need separate bathrooms for pee’s and poops. A #1 and and #2 are not the same and should be treated as such. Never again shall Splashers and Ploppers have to share the same room. I’m tired of living in a world where a quick pee at the bar can lead to an awkward encounter of me listening to some bathroom tyrant squeezing out last nights dinner and come out of the stall staring me straight in the eyes like some kind of psychopath.
Even the workplace has become affected. I don’t want to know Greg in accounting screams a little when he makes poos, may not have had curry recently, and for sure doesn’t wash his hands afterwards. HEY GREG It’s not that hard to keep yourself regular outside of work hours. Maybe try a fiber bar for lunch instead of half a pizza and chocolate pudding everyday. NO NO don’t come over here, stay at your freaking desk and away from mine. I’ll email you if I need anything and for sure don’t touch my stuff. I don’t need your butt bits on my Carlos Baerga bobblehead!
Listen people I’m not a monster. I understand there are emergency deuces. And if we aren’t going to separate the bathrooms at least do what I do and if someone else comes in the room hide in the stall quietly with your feet up and wait for the coast to clear like a normal person. Then as you leave the bathroom, the first person you see, loudly declare, “Good luck! Some asshole really stunk it up in there!”
Well I feel good about myself. Write your local congressman or whatever.