Here's a little tune I wrote for you ILTS. My apologies to Bruce Springsteen.
Well then again, I take that back. Fuck you Bruce.
I knew a dude who was a bathroom attendant,
In some fancy place.
He kept warm towels draped on his forearm,
Wipe your ass or your face boy.
Saw him the other night in his fancy "office"
I was walking in, he was puttin out.
I sat down, took a wicked dump,
And all I heard was him talkin 'boouuut.
Glory holes.
Well that ain't no lie.
Glory holes.
Is that your brown eye?
Glory holes
Glory ho-o-o-o-ls
Things are gettin' really busy tonight
Lots of cash in the till
I hope when he gets old,
his kids don't find out about it.
But they prooobably will.
Just standin' round, handin' out towels,
breathing in other mens stink.
The IRS will likely catch a whiff,
And he'll end up in the clink.
Glory holes.
Well it ain't no lie.
Glory holes.
Is that your brown eye?
Glory holes.
Glory ho-o-o-ols
IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU LOGJAM. I HAVE CLOSED MY SUCESSFUL BUSINESS AND HAVE TAKEN A NEW CAREER PATH ALSO. EXCEPT FOR THIS DAMN RASH I'VE CONTRACTED ON MY MOUTH I HAVE NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. I ALSO PLAN ON NOT REPORTING MY INCOME TO THE IRS.
Poor spelling and lack of punctuation are early signs of pinworms too AC. It seems that the fingers keep wandering off the keyboard and into the asshole too much. Remember prevention is often the best cure.
I always have a hard time getting the little fuckers to pose. One's always looking away from the camera, or making a stupid face or something. I guess the answer is no.
One night back in the 70's I was confronted by a gang in a bad part of Detroit. They told me they were going to kill me if I couldn't give them the chemical symbols for the six noble gasses. Terrified, I fumbled for my pocket periodic table. The leader of the gang yelled, "watch out, he's going for his bag of rotted dog shit". They scattered like chickens being chased by the Colonel. I can laugh about it now, but the real funny part was that my bag of rotted dog shit was actually home.
A lot of questions need to be answered. Are the charges careless farting, or reckless farting? Was he on his cellphone while farting? Will he get points on his license? Did his gas destroy the breathalizer? He needs a good lawyer. Johnny Cochrane should smell pretty good by now.
I re-read this story, and once I got past the funny aspect, I realized how well it exposed the fine subtleties of the male bathroom experience. To think that a mere eyeblink ago in evolution, we would have just pissed on the 8th stall door and taken the 9th. We've come a long way.
Chief, Bertram's my kind of dog. I wrote a little poem in his honor ala Dr Seuss.
I like to eat the groundhog heads,
They taste even better the longer they're dead.
I like to eat the festering goo,
And if there's an eyeball, I'll eat that too.
I like to eat them in the house,
Or under the bed, where I've stashed the dead mouse.
I really like the way they taste,
And then I like to lick Chief's face.
But I really like eggs and green ham,
I really like them Ber-tram I am.
I started a thread in the forums about people who don't realize that their pants are sticking up their asses. I do find it hard to think you could have a Milk Dud in your crack and not know it. I'm going to buy a box tonight and check it out.
Tho' what happened was really quite comical,
It was worthy of a Poop Report chronicle.
The eye slid down his throat,
But now that old billy goat,
Is being fitted for an ass-crack monocle.
It's beautiful Daphne. I printed it, collated and bound it. Whenever I need some good toilet reading material, I grab the hand truck and haul it into the bathroom.
"Clean your eye" she would always remind him.
"I swallowed it" ol' Martin just chimed in.
In short time it did pass
But got stuck in his ass
And now he can see whats behind him.
Bent over naked, Martin didn't look proper,
As the doctor peered in his shit hopper.
For inside of his ass,
Was an eye made of glass.
With the remains of last nights Double Whopper.
They poop in toilets, they poop on planes.
They poop on sunny days, they poop when it rains.
They poop in the woods, they poop in their pants
They poop on hills that are covered with ants.
They poop when its cold, they poop when its hot
They poop on the rim, when they miss the pot.
They poop giant logs, or ones like a mouse
Why, Herbert they'll even poop at YOUR house.
Get over it Herbie, or one will poop,
A steaming brown turban, right on your stoop.
Courtesy flushes can be dangerous. A stopped up bowl can creep up and surprise you in a heartbeat. We are, however, all equipped with ass radar which should go off the instant cold water hits cheekage. This guy must have had the reactions of a tree sloth to have gotten his BVD's full of shit.
Hi Igor (taking off sweater) welcome to Mister Bilge's neighborhood. It's a doodieful day in the neighborhood, a doodieful day for a neighbor-would you be mine. Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor.
A four pack will definitely outlast a six pack every time. About one week, unless some JACKASS LEAVES THE OPENED PACKAGE NEXT TO THE SHOWER AND DOESN'T CLOSE THE CURTAIN AND GETS THE TOILET PAPER SOAKING WET, AND I'M ON THE TOILET JUST FINISHING A MILLION WIPER AND ONLY HAVE A FEW SQUARES LEFT ON THE REMAINING DRY ROLL. FUCK ME.
Corn powered cars, busses and ships,
Corn pudding, corn dogs and even corn chips.
It's found everywhere,
Even in Shoffy's hair.
So whats wrong with corn in our shits.
I have just downloaded the latest version of microsoft shittycomment 2008. It has alerted me that Eoz's comments (Is that Zoe spelled backwards?) were in fact shitty.
In Daphne's defense, she isn't taking grizzly bear growth hormones. That was Roger Clemens (allegedly). She's taking the growth hormones from the Grizzly Bear Cactus (optunia polyacantha v. trichaphora), which is preferred by the veggies.
Oh, and AC that isn't a thong, just a pair of panties stretched to their limit.
Struttinghip, I live on the other side of the creek in Jersey. Just call me next time, and I will come over and take credit for the monster when the plumber comes. For guys, something like that is a badge of honor. By the way, I like that you started your story with a limerick. I have one for you. I hope you like it.
"You got a problem" the plumber told her.
Kelly's turd was the size of a boulder.
He looked like Brad Pitt,
Hanger-hacking her shit.
And left with it slung o'er his shoulder.
I would like to insert my opinion. Like it or not, it is how I feel. First off I am a law and order person. Without laws, we would rapidly decend into a feudal, Afghan type society. Public restrooms are exactly what the name implies, PUBLIC. They are put there for the convenience of the public, for use as designed, and the area behind the stall door is just as much the public's property as the rest of the room. I have seen many a private bathroom closed to the public because of abuse, as well as public ones. As a matter of fact New Jersey has half the hiway rest stops it used to have, and many of these are closed at night.
I have absolutely no problems with someones sexual orientation, or religion. As a matter of fact, I dont have a problem with someone trying to get a date in a public restroom, as long as the follow up is taken to a home or hotel. The vast majority of the public wants clean rest rooms so they can do their business with a bit of decency, and I think a person making a mess or defacing property is more guilty of abuse than someone tapping on your stall. After all, if you're not interested, a polite "fuck off" will solve the problem. I don't align myself with Republicans or Democrats, Catholics or Protestants, gay or straight on this issue. I prefer to align myself with the party of common sense.
Just another lousy day,
Toilet full of fecal spray,
Pinch or wipe, I cannot say,
My hand a mess either way,
A change in diet, I hope and pray,
Will keep the 'rhea somewhat at bay,
Until then, I sit and linger,
And wipe the frosting off my finger.
Least like, and most like wouldn't make a difference to me as long as it made for a great stall story. My choice would be Ralph Kramden. I can hear it now Hamana, Hamana, Hamana.....Whaaaaaaaa.
I think it is time to give credit where credit is due.
It matters not whether it yours or its mine,
He's inspired many a quality rhyme,
Just remember who "took the hit"
And ate his own familys shit,
Mr Shoff, you're a legend in your own time.
Mrs. Shoff was busy "Decking the Halls",
When she heard her mans desperate calls,
He was stuck upside down,
Surrounded by half his hometown,
As they hoisted him out by his balls.
Wiper, I had envisioned the Shoff's as older, slightly overweight mid-westerners. Your last line killed me (and a few of my other personalities). Here is one back at you.
On a fridgid night much to Shoff's chagrin,
In his own cesspit he fell in,
He said "Its not quite the norm,
But its really quite warm,
So I think that I'll go for a swim."
Thank you, Daphne. This one is for you, then I'm going to sleep.
The Aftermath:
Tho' he looked like a wet teddy bear,
Shoff was none the worse for the wear,
Though he showered quite well,
And got rid of the smell,
A month later he found some corn in his hair.
Tho' the blockage was not caused by him,
Ol' Shoff cleared it out, then fell in,
He was covered in the goo,
From a years worth of poo,
And a tampon was stuck to his chin.
An Iowan named Shoff once did slip,
Went face first in his own septic pit,
The fireman said,
As he hosed off Shoff's head,
"He's lucky his ass didn't fit
Here's a little tune I wrote for you ILTS. My apologies to Bruce Springsteen.
Well then again, I take that back. Fuck you Bruce.
I knew a dude who was a bathroom attendant,
In some fancy place.
He kept warm towels draped on his forearm,
Wipe your ass or your face boy.
Saw him the other night in his fancy "office"
I was walking in, he was puttin out.
I sat down, took a wicked dump,
And all I heard was him talkin 'boouuut.
Glory holes.
Well that ain't no lie.
Glory holes.
Is that your brown eye?
Glory holes
Glory ho-o-o-o-ls
Things are gettin' really busy tonight
Lots of cash in the till
I hope when he gets old,
his kids don't find out about it.
But they prooobably will.
Just standin' round, handin' out towels,
breathing in other mens stink.
The IRS will likely catch a whiff,
And he'll end up in the clink.
Glory holes.
Well it ain't no lie.
Glory holes.
Is that your brown eye?
Glory holes.
Glory ho-o-o-ols