the answer to the iraq/iran/pluto sitch lies, i think, in the unspeakable rules of the male bar bathroom. if, in their infinite stupidity, mankind can find a balance of rules and understanding in a setting so overblown with masculinity and cock/balls like a bar bathroom, why for not can we not find an answer to this middle east situation. i feel like we need another mc hammer song on the issue. remember malibu stacy? but i digress...
so. guys. bathrooms. urinals. stalls. there's so many ways to go wrong. fuck bin laden, the worst person in the world is the guy who picks the middle urinal when there are three options open to him. guess what guy: you just turned everyone around you gay (not that there's anything wrong with that. some of my best friends are gay. well, we're at least friends. well, i met one once. well, i saw that video that george michael did with courtney cox). adios marriage (thanks texas), i now officially must loves balls because apparently i have to stand next to you and admire the fact that you go over the fence because you're too lazy to go through your fly. it's called a button. they've been around since at least 1987, get used to them. they're the wave of the future. like slap bracelets.
the greatest moment in bathroom use is when the door opens and whatever god awful song that involves one of the following: umbrellas, 151, pineapple juice, babies with their backs that they've got, certain exercise routines; [improper use of semi-colon] spills forth from the dance floor from which my roommate matt is inevitably doing the pointy-arm dance, and suddenly i can feel free to piss in the stall. because there's nothing worse than pissing in a toilet full of water and thinking, "shit, the guy who wearing the double popped collar in the urinal next to me can tell i have a small penis". i don't know from experience, but i saw it on maury.
we can cure polio but we don't know what happened to dinosaurs???
what would happen if all of a sudden in a club they started playing the theme from "boy meets world"? i'll tell you what: mega dance sesh.
you know, as far as popping the cherry of my drunken blog goes, i'm not really that intoxicated. you can tell because my spelling is uncanny, right?
have you ever looked at someone on a dance floor and thought, "i wish i was european and so free-spirited", then had a friend ask the person where they're from and they respond, "chicago"? yeah, me neither.
so, i hope you'll bear with me through this uncomfortable process of becoming a blogger. i promise future wise (wiser, even) insights and uncomfortable topics a la larry king with a dash of connie chung. or carry kung, if you will. won't you?