Monday, January 31, 2005

Babies Fuck AIDS Away!

Warning: This may be the most evil thing I've ever written.

Health officials have declared that they are very close to erradicating AIDS in babies. This is good news, especially for women with very AIDS-y vaginas and babies with intravenous drug habits.

A spokesman for all of the doctors in the world says, "We've decided that we don't want babies to fuck each other anymore. And if they do, we'll make sure that they use the newly-released Baby Condoms by Trojan."

It turns out that babies were literally fucking the shit out of each other. This is why babies have to wear diapers. People used to think that incontinence was a result of just being a baby and learning to control one's bowels, but it turns out that babies love to screw so much that they shit themselves.

When the spokesman, Gene Eric Spokesmanerson, was asked about babies having sex with monkeys or grown people, he could only hint at future initiatives. "We're working hard on discouraging babies from having sex with monkeys and grown people by starting to educate them early. There's a new rule that should take effect in 2006 where OBGYNs are obligated to scream at a pregnant woman's stomach, even if they're just walking down the street and not a patient, and say, 'Don't you go fucking AIDS monkeys or adults or even pencil sharpeners that look very HIV-y.' Then they're supposed to punch the woman in the stomach or, if they're wearing heavy shoes--like steel-toed, or something with a heel--they must kick the stomach. See, they're not attacking the woman, but scaring the baby. Everybody knows that the best way to educate people--especially babies, who aren't actually people, but, and very few people know this, 75 percent seahorse until the ninth month--about anything is not to tell them the facts, but to scare them so badly that they are born retarded. That way, the only thing that touches their private parts is themselves or the occasional bowl of Jell-O. And Jell-O has made a commitment to become AIDS-free by the end of the year. Thanks, Bill Cosby."

That was a long quote to use, but I feel like everything he said was important and completely real.

Enough about babies fucking each other or pigs or whatever, let me tell you about a dream I had.

A few days ago I took a nap in the middle of the day because it's hard work to be unemployed and basking in your own ass-stink for days on end. Well, I had a real quick dream that shows just how insightful the human mind really is.

As all my loyal readers know (which I'll get to at the end), I hate organized religion. Well, apparently my mind must read my weblog because it knows that as well. I hate the commercialization of things like the Harvest Crusade and my brain thought it would be fun to satirically comment on this. In my quick dream, I was going to the Vatican, probably to poop in the Pope's hat or something, but it wasn't called the Vatican. No. It was the Duncan Hines "Long Lasting" Church. The church had become like the goddamn Staples Center of religion but without all the heterosexual rape allegations. Now I'm positive that I must be from the future. In my world, the church is sponsored by food companies and the government is run by Phil Jackson who makes Senators run suicides if they get mouthy and try that filibuster bullshit. Not on his watch. He's going for a tenth presidency, he can't have that kind of nonsense going on.

Tonight I was accosted on the telephone by some people who read my website. I don't know how they got my number, but they did and they insisted that I give them "shout-outs." Now, I fucking hate the shout-out. The entire idea of a shout-out makes my penis want to fistfight people in the faces. I mean, "Hi Mom," is one thing, but, "I want to give a shout-out to my moms, Uncle Chicklet, Toof-Toof, my car battery, Grover, book, gravity, and C. Thomas Howell," is so goddamn inane that I want so badly to be like that kid in the Twilight Zone episode that could wish people away.

That being said, Brian, Paul, I hope you are killed when a homeless man rapes you both so hard that the amount of blood lost through your monstrously stretched-out sphincters is enough to fill up one of those plastic children's pools.

Interesting thought of the day:
If you ever meet a psychic, punch them in the face and when they ask why'd you do that, don't say, "You should have seen it coming," that's cliche. Instead, say, "Because I fucked your dead grandfather."


In an article from the Fox News Website (where I get all my news about homosexuality), there's a new study that links sexuality to specific genes. No, not crotchless chaps. Genes, like genetics.

This being from Fox News, however, they do go on to say, "Yeah, but you choose to have those genes. Nobody's making you. You can go on a special diet, pray to Jesus, or read a book and it'll make those genes go away and you'll stop being gay."

On the heels of this news, James Dobson, the guy from Focus on the Family who claims that SpongeBob Squarepants is gay, has a new target: Chromosomes. "They're everywhere--in everybody--and they're just waiting to make you gay. I know mine were trying it, so I had them removed. I went to this guy who knows my cousin and he got rid of all the gay genes inside of me. All he had me do was go into this dark room and drink this salty shake from a hose. It wasn't bad at all. Sure it took a while for it to come out, but I think there was a kink in the hose because right when it started to flow, I heard somebody give a sigh of relief."

I'm going to cut this short tonight because I kind of just wanted to write this because I liked the title.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Liberty and Freedom On the Outs!

In news that is sure to send shockwaves through the present American political system, Liberty and Freedom have separated.

The two recently made news in President Bush's Inaugural speech in which he referenced the two over forty times combined. Rumor has it, though, that Liberty was upset because Freedom was having an affair with Justice.

That is just speculation, however, and as recently as yesterday Freedom and Liberty were seen together once again when Condoleeza Rice managed to use each of them twice in the same sentence.

"I can't think of a better call than to say that America will stand for freedom and for liberty, that America will stand with those who want their aspirations met for liberty and freedom."

A spokesman for the two said that they will attempt to maintain their working relationship as President Bush had already made an appointment for them to appear in Iraq on the 30th. However, skeptics like Un (who rose to fame as the prefix) feel that this won't happen.

"It's highly unlikely that the elections are going to go smoothly. The people over there are crazy and uncivilized," he said, taking a drag from his Virginia Slim cigarette. "That'll be eighty dollars. Forty per un."

Not since the split of "Trickle-down" and "Economics" in the 80s has a separation had such an impact on the World. But, as we all know, Trickle-down remarried and became Trickle-down-Zeta-Jones-Douglas and President Bush had Economics murdered in front of the country at his first Inauguration in 2001.

Freedom and Liberty in happier times.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Nice Hairstyle, Nice!

I wonder if a Back to the Beach quote is too obscure of a way to title this article so that it has any relevance to the material I'm talking about.

Oh well.

Christian Slater, seen here where it was apparently really smoky outside, was attacked by a guy with a knife outside of the "hit play" in which he was performing. Luckily, though, Slater beat the attacker off with his autographed Hasoi skateboard that he got on the set of Gleaming the Cube. There is a lot of speculation about why the man tried to attack him.

Some believe it was because Pump Up the Volume was not meant to be turned into a stageplay and something had to be done to stop it.

Still others felt that Slater should be stabbed just on principle for making the movie Kuffs.

However, I think that the attacker, blind since birth, firmly believed he was stabbing Jack Nicholson only younger and less Witches of Eastwick-y.

Slater can be seen in the upcoming movie Alone in the Dark with Tara Reid. So you know that's going to be good. At least his career is on the rise. IMDB says that he has another movie, a Three Musketeers remake, in the works starring him, Wilford Brimley, and Corky from Life Goes On.

Sorry. I know the Photoshop job is bad, but I wasn't going to devote too much time to it.

Monday, January 24, 2005

It's Official! I Hate The World!

Over the weekend, Ice Cube's hilarious new romp, Are We There Yet?, shot to number 1 proving just how much millions of people in the United States need to be beaten with a pillowcase full of bowling pins.

This means that there are people that see the commercials for this movie and think, Yes. Yes! That is going to be hilarious! Ice Cube having to take care of a bunch of precocious kids? Where do I sign?

Oh, dear God. I just went to the website to try to find a picture for this article and even the website is comedy gold. Those crazy kids. Poor former gangster rapper.

The only thing that would make this type of movie better is if somebody like Vin Diesel was in a movie like...what? He is? Oh joy of joys! And it has an even better title than Are We There Yet?

That's right. Vin Diesel is The Pacifier. I mean, just look at the picture. Doesn't that seem so funny? It's this big guy and he has to take care of kids. Everybody knows that men don't take care of children. That's what women and foster homes are for.

Oh, Hollywood. If you were a woman, I'd make sweet, dirty love to you until you got up and left halfway through because I told you I could only pay in Chuck E. Cheese tokens.

"Jane Roe" Sues Uterus

In a stunning turn of events, Norma McCorvey, once known as "Jane Roe" in the landmark Roe Versus Wade abortion case and in the less renowned Roe Versus Predator action film, has decided, 32 years later, that she wants people to do as she says, not as she does.

The issue resurfaced when a 5th Circuit Court of Appeals Judge and MENSA scholar, Edith H. Jones, found that "new medical evidence may well show undue harm to a mother and her fetus."

Apparently it's news to McCorvey and this judge that an abortion actually kills the fetus. They had both been under the assumption that abortion was a German word meaning "baby shrinker."

Because of the new interest in the 32-year-old case, even older laws are looking to get in on the publicity. Thanks to having Bush in the White House and a Republican House and Senate, prohibition may see its way back into the books, women's suffrage will go the way of the abortion, and bicycles with giant wheels will be all the rage.

And, if Bush gets his way, the entire starting lineup of the Miami Heat will be working for the White House for free, forever.

"Shaquille O'Neal? I don't like that name. Your new name will be...Toby."

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Bush Sworn In As "New Jesus"

Washington DC
Today, while being sworn in by a man who looked like the guy in the room with the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, re-elected President George W. Bush yelled excitedly to wife, Laura, "You know, Sweetheart, I asked God last night, and he said that this means I'm Jesus Part Two. That makes me like the old Jesus, but better. Kind of like how X-2 was way better than X-Men 1. That's me. I'm the new X-Men." He then giggled and used his hands like Wolverine's claws until Chief Justice William "Wild Bill" Rehnquist slapped him across the face.

In his speech, President Bush went on to speak vaguely about how liberty is doing something in a positive motion somewhere in the world. He talked like this a lot. It was like a template that he found on Microsoft Word that was specifically geared toward Inaugural speeches.

"America will not pretend that...women welcome humiliation...or that any human being aspires to live at the mercy of bullies," Bush said. This was followed by a Girls Gone Wild commercial and then Sean Hannity yelling at Democrats to quit whining because they lost.

As you can see in the picture on the left, Bush read his speech from a folder which contained various notes and index cards. I've managed to find what the cover of this folder looks like. There's a rumor that at one of the Balls tonight, Bush is going to enter riding in the original General Lee.

Needless to say, these next four years look like they're going to be just as awesome as the previous four. I heard that they're starting a program where for every one hundred people you recruit to go fight in the Iraq war, you can win a free XBox. It's like selling Girl Scout Cookies but instead of making people fat, you're making them dead. Count me in. I'm going to try to win the family four pack to Disneyworld.

On a side note, I just heard Bill O'Reilly say, "I'll tell you what's going on in these big balls." I promise you that's almost a direct quote from one of those phone sex tapes that the woman suing him had.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

The Future Is Here!

I recently discovered what is probably the greatest invention of the 20th Century (so that puts me a few years behind--pretend I'm from the Midwest). I'm talking, of course, about Voice Recognition Software. It makes me truly believe that we're living in the society that they showed in The Jetsons and Back to the Future (the one with the Hoverboard and Elijah Wood).

I have decided to demonstrate this technology for you by having this program transcribe, perfectly, the lyrics to the Spice Girls' "Wannabe."

Yell up to you and I want to read and when I really really want
So tell you what you wanted to really really want
Until you what I want when I really really want
So, in which along with two really really want
But one out of mana of one of a wanna I wanna really
Could have really really wanna zigazig caught

In your view to Yemen S.
In doing in the meta name bass
No go wasting the precious time
Contracts and other we can be just fine

But they wouldn’t want whether a really want
Tsukamoto which really want
But wanna I wanna have one on one on one
a really really really one is a is a top

If you wanted the memory that the equipment friends
Make us forever French and never ends
If you are the men of the above to give
Taking is to be easy but that’s the eight these

Of all the words for the program to understand, it actually got "zigazig" once. To quote Kip from Napoleon Dynamite, "Yes, I love technology, but not as much as you, you see."

I bought a book that arrived today that may help me find a writing job, or at least score some more gigs (that's what they say in the business, I think it means cocaine). It lists a slew of places to send freelance work or query letters. It turns out, though, that there are a whole Hell of a lot of magazines that cover topics that I know nothing about. That's why I've decided to start a new segment where I write a completely inappropriate query letter to a company I have no business trying to work for. And not because I ended the last two sentences with a preposition and I don't care.

Today's letter will be sent to Miniature Donkey Talk. This magazine covers exactly what it sounds like, "miniature donkeys or donkeys, with articles on healthcare, promotion, and management of donkeys for owners, breeders, or donkey lovers."

Dear Ms. Gross,

Your magazine, Miniature Donkey Talk, has recently come to my attention through a friend and greatly interests me. I am a freelance writer specializing in humorous anecdotes about tiny equine creatures. Some people say that this is a niche category to fall in, but why hide my natural talent?

I would like for the following to be considered as filler for your magazine, or as the basis for a comic strip.

Completely made-up miniature donkey fact:
It takes five miniature donkeys to beat up one regular donkey.

Completely made-up miniature donkey fact:
Miniature donkeys have to shop in the young donkey section of the clothing store.

Completely made-up miniature donkey fact:
Contrary to their appearance, not all miniature donkeys are tiny Republicans.

Completely made-up miniature donkey fact:
Miniature donkeys are filled with miniature candy.

I look forward to hearing from you.


This guy.

For the next installment of "Kurt Writes a Query Letter to a Company He Has No Business Trying to Write For," somebody needs to pick a number between 421 and 819 and specify top, middle, or bottom. I just sent the letter off, wonder if I'll even hear back.

Interesting thought of the day:
Glass of diarrhea.

Monday, January 17, 2005

These Kids and Their Cockrings!

I was at a friend's house over the weekend, and while flipping through channels, he came across some kids' gameshow. Before they went to the final round, they had a performance by a special guest. That special guest was, apparently, something the thirteen-year-old kids love: Dream Street! It's a five-piece ensemble, like a jazz band, but without all the pubic hair or talent.

Out of utter horror and, sure, maybe a little genital excitement, we watched as Dream Street took to the stage and rocked the collective mic. It was the closest thing to child pornography I've seen since I looked in that special folder on my hard drive. They were these 13-year-old kids singing a song about how they want to make your body sweat and lose control. Then they'd hump the floor and I think it got to be the most inappropriate when one of the kids sung out in three-part harmony, "Girl, I want to put my lipstick in your Cootie Control center."

I did a little investigative reporting on these guys and found a track listing of one of their CDs. This is from their CD, "Kids Don't Get Syphilis."

  1. Donkey Punch Delight
  2. It's Not Statutory If We're Both Underage
  3. Ball Dropping (feat. Puff Daddy & Lil Kim)
  4. It's Called a Fivesome
  5. Break! (That Hymen)
  6. Candy Corn Is an Aphrodisiac
  7. Don't Worry, Girl (Anal Sex Doesn't Count)
  8. Fisting You (power ballad)
  9. You're almost 18 (in dog years)
  10. Toys 'R Us Doesn't Sell These Toys

Maybe I'm being a prude, but this seems a little on the inappropriate side to me. I guess this is just a sign of my age.

Interesting thought of the day:
It is a widely known fact that women with red hair are born with an extra vagina.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

I Guess I'll Name My Son Whorehouse!

A couple who met on the internet has decided to name their son...wait, I'm sorry, to have this make a little more sense, let me add in the necessary adjective. A Romanian couple who met on the internet has decided to name their son Yahoo. I'm sure the kid won't ever get made fun of by his fellow students. I mean, look at how well Yahoo Serious did for himself. Young Einstein was both a popular and critical smash hit which, apparently, garnered him enough money that he would never have to work again.

I hope this whole idea of naming your child after where or how they came to be doesn't catch on. If it does, there are going to be a lot of screwed-up kids in the world. Especially in Romania.

"Yes, hello. This is my wife, Margaret, and my son, Intheass. He's our little miracle."

"I swear to God, if you don't clean up your room, Turkey Baster, you will upset both of your mommies."

"Mrs. Johnson, hello, we're calling because your son, Glory Hole, has been acting up in class."

I respond to reader's comments:
Anonymous said...

Usually I appreciate and enjoy your writing, however, this entry is just too far gone for even me to stomach. As someone who witnessed the tsunami first hand, I really do think you've taken this too far.

Stick to what you're good at, flame bush.

I'd like for you to look up the definition of satire and/or sarcasm and write a 1500-word essay for me on what you find. It's hard to believe that you've actually understood anything I've ever written if you don't understand this. If I have to explain it any further than this, all the magic goes away. It's like watching a magician do his tricks from the side of the stage. Except, in this case, the magician is a delusional, unemployed wannabe who types in the unorthodox manner of slamming his erect penis on the spacebar between words.

Interesting thought of the day:
Sweet & Sour sauce has managed to encapsulate the dichotomy of the entire sense of taste in a tiny package. There is no Delicious & Disgusting Sauce. Actually, I lie, my famous Chocolate Milk and Bull Semen Sauce fills this void.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Womb Raider!

If it takes me until my dying breath, so help me god, Angelina Jolie will pay for what she has supposedly done to my Jen and Brad. I've had a couple of days to clear my head on this subject and have decided to refocus my anger away from these two and focus it on who is really to blame.

To quote the USA Today article on the breakup, "the shockwaves surrounding the separation of Hollywood's golden couple continue[s] to reverberate in the entertainment world."

Shockwaves is right. In fact, that's probably too mild a turn-of-phrase. I don't believe that I'm being overdramatic if I say that this breakup--this catastrophe--will have reverberations that will still be felt by my children's children's children. Angelina Jolie will be hailed as the Antichrist that ushered in the Apocalypse. For years people made predictions on who it would be. Some said Hitler, Stalin, The Pope, George W. Bush. But they were all oh so wrong. That goddamn floozy--oh, I said it--floozy, Angelina Jolie has taken the single, solitary ray of light in Hollywood and turned it into, dare I say, a tsunami of negative energy that has swept over Southern California and the world. Speaking of tsunamis, it's a good thing that the local news has decided to forego discussing the latest breaking news where over 120,000 people have died in lieu of updating us on who will be getting custody of their Golden Retriever, Madeline. Dead Asian people or letting me know whether or not Angelina Jolie may have had a hand in this other, more important, disaster? When it's written down in front of you, it all seems so trivial, doesn't it? Those dead Asian people don't make movies like Leprechaun or Picture Perfect. Frankly, I'll be perfectly content if I don't have to hear another sad story about how some little Chinese kid almost drown when the water went all the way up to his ankles. Give me a break.

We have water here in Southern California, too, people. That's right. And it's not just on the ground, but it's coming from the sky also. And you know how many people have died here because of it? Three. It's Darwinism at its finest, baby. Just goes to show you who is more adept at handling the water and it looks like us Americans win huge. It's strange, too, because you Asian people are so good at diving in the water at the Olympics, but once the water starts moving around you just a little bit, everything goes to Hell.

I've got the news on around the clock here just hoping I'll hear some more news about my Brad and Jen. If something's not done soon, I think I may have to take things into my own hands about Angelina Jolie. I know that once she's out of the picture all will be right with the world again. The terrorists are winning right now. Don't you see that? And Angelina Jolie is one of them. She has metaphorically beheaded that which concerns us the most and we must not tolerate it. You know how those terrorists love to work in metaphors, symbolism, and allegory. They're huge Lewis Carroll fans. Allah, hu akbar! Allah, hu akbar! Allah, hu akbar!

I wonder if that's going to put me on any terrorist watch lists. I've always wanted to have something in common with Cat Stevens other than the way we play some kick-ass licks on the old axe.

Job hunting tip of the day:
Don't start a follow-up call by saying, "Hi. I was wondering if you all have private toilets at your establishment because I really can't go number two if you don't have doors that go all the way to the floor."

Friday, January 07, 2005

Fuck You, God. Fuck...You!

I don't know where my life is going. I mean, in this crazy, mixed-up world of tsunamis, terrorist attacks and presidential elections gone wrong, there has always been one constant. But today, that rock has been destroyed. Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt have separated.

I...I...don't think I can write much more on this subject as I am openly weeping and can barely see the computer screen through my saline goggles. I just wanted to express my anger and hostility. I always looked up to these two. I mean, if you can't count on those two, who can you count on? Your parents? Your friends? Yeah, right. Goddamn world.

People often question why I'm an atheist and, to be honest, I was starting to find my way to the Lord when this news broke. This has solidified my belief that there can be no Heavenly Father. He wouldn't let something like this happen. Not in my lifetime. Not in this already tumultuous world. I think I'm going to have to throw up. It''s making me sick just thinking about it all.

Interesting thought of the day:
I taste my broken dreams and lost hopes as they trickle down my face. F-f-fuck you, Brad and Jen. Fuck you both.

I'll always love you.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Goddamn 800-numbers!

When I call a customer service line, I would probably be better off trying to explain the Theory of Relativity to a retarded kid. I've been on the phone with four different company's customer service departments in the past week or so and, Jesus Christ, now I know where those kids who had to go to the continuation high school end up working.

I've been trying to port my cell phone number over from AT&T to Sprint for over a day now. Oh my god. It's like trying to get a peace treaty between Israel and Palestine, but harder and with surprisingly more suicide bombings. One of the guys that I spoke with at AT&T should probably never talk on the phone, ever. Shouldn't it be a prerequisite at a place where all you do is talk on the phone all day, that people be able to understand you? I almost had to switch over to that deaf telephone thing just to understand a goddamn word he was saying.

People in customer service hate to divulge any information, too. For instance, at AT&T, my contract is up January 20th and I've paid it all and want to switch my number over to Sprint. Well, it took a half an hour for me to explain to the boy on the other end of the line that, according to AT&T's policies, if I wanted to port my number over without the early cancellation fee of $175 I'd have to go into the next billing cycle, which isn't right. Then he said that as long as I'm close to the last day of my cycle, since I've paid it all through, thus fulfilling my contract, I won't be charged the fee. Then I asked why I couldn't just switch now, to which he said that it was just better to wait. Finally he said that there's a 30-day window in which I can cancel and not be billed the cancellation fee. Why the hell can't they just say that stuff up front and not waste a half hour on the phone? I really want to go down to any customer service department and just pour glass upon glass of my own urine, which I've been saving up for three years, on all their books that tell them what to say. It's like talking to a robot with a hearing problem and a speech impediment. Coincidentally, I will be executive producing a show on the UPN this fall about a robot with just such an ailment. It's called "Hmall Hwunda," and will air Tuesdays right after reruns of "Shasta McNasty."

Finally, to top off all this fun, I got a zit on my nose yesterday, but it's no ordinary zit. It's one of those below-the-surface bastards. It turned my nose red and swollen, like a dog's lipstick. I kind of look like Boris Yeltsin right now. The worst part, though, is that it's so goddamn swollen that, as a result of all the blood that's flowing through it, I've got a headache. I promise you that the two are tied together. It's pulling all the blood from my brain into the tip of my nose. It's feeding off of it. I'll probably be dead soon.

Interesting thought of the day:
I'm going to start a Fortune Cookie company that only puts insults inside their cookies. Sample texts are: "Hey, Fatty. This won't be your first or last fortune cookie. We all know it." and "Other people look to you to make themselves feel better. So...thanks."

Sunday, January 02, 2005

How To Effectively Traumatize Your Child For Life!

I'm sure I've said it before, but I can't pee like a man. This doesn't mean that I have to sit down whenever I urinate, but I do have to go in a stall to go to the bathroom. Once in there, I stand up, drop my pants to my ankles, and pee, Pee, PEE!

Yesterday, while I was in L.A. visiting a friend for New Years, we went to The Grove (a disgustingly trendy L.A. "mall") to see a movie, The Life Aquatic. After the movie, I went to the bathroom for probably the fourth time that day because I have a bladder the size of my vagina. As I was walking in, a man was pulling what I assume was his son into the bathroom with him. He dragged him by the hand to the wall of urinals.

"What do I do," the boy asked, innocently.

"Just pull your pants down and take it out," the perhaps-father replied, somewhat irritated.

"But everybody will see it," the boy said, taking the words right out of my mouth as I stood in my private cubicle of urination happily pissing without fear of "them" seeing it.

At this point, the father says what will probably go down as the most traumatizing event in this young child's life.

"They're supposed to see it."

Supposed to? No. Nobody's supposed to see it. He makes it sound as though that's the whole point of peeing at a urinal is to show your stuff to everybody. As far as I know, this isn't the point. Unless I missed this childhood lesson, I believe that nobody's supposed to see it unless they're a significant other, doctor, or teacher who takes the day off to drive you to the District Spelling Bee because you're "not like other kids--you're special and so smart."

I just know that for years after this incident, that boy is going to be beaten on a consistent basis for blatantly looking at the junk of other men at the urinal. The whole point of peeing at a urinal is a practice in heterosexual self-control. Sure, you wonder why one man is so close his dick is probably scraping the wall of the urinal producing a spectacular water show not unlike holding one's thumb over the end of a garden hose, but you don't look. You also wonder why it's taking the old man standing next to you an hour to take a leak (then you wonder why you've been standing at the urinal for an hour, too). Does he have a weird, crazy-straw-shaped dick? Pin-point-sized urethra? Maybe. But you don't look no matter what. Not unless the guy is peeing on you, are you supposed to look. And even then, you should probably try to maintain eye contact only.

That's why I stick to the stalls. There are no rules. Going to the bathroom in a stall is like being in International Waters. You can gamble, kill endangered species, and smoke peyote without consequence.

If somebody ever tells you that you're supposed to do something, you may want to do a little research first. My dad never misled me like that, and I'm glad. At first I thought it was a little weird, though, that you're supposed to shit in urinals. But, as my dad explained to me, it's like how Iceland is actually green, and Greenland is actually ice. It's simply a case of something being named wrong.

Interesting thought of the day:
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it wear a two-piece in public because it's self-conscious of its C-section scar.