Bathroom Monologue: "The world’s oldest profession…” –Anonymous, The Baltimore Sun

Second oldest. The first would be necessary to generate the goods or revenue that would inspire the Neanderthal lass (or gigolo) to provide sex. In fact, if the master of the older profession had so much of his (or her) stock that he/she was willing to trade for a little geisha action, then he/she was probably providing to other customers for more practical returns. These customers, in turn, would need to have professions of their own – tiger hunters, berry gatherers, some nutcase raising investments for something called “the wheel” – rendering the prostitute not only not the oldest or second oldest, but likely a latter-day recreational profession. Unless you count mates and whatnot, in which case, please explain to my wife why you just called her a whore. She’s on her period, so I’m certainly not doing it. I’ll be out gathering Mydol. Not sure how old the pharmacist profession is, but I sure am grateful it’s there.

Bathroom Monologue: Loving Pennies

“I find that the mingled scents of flesh, sweat and copper form a smell similar to the taste of blood. I do not like the taste of blood (well done, please), but I do like that smell. It helps me relax after long days. But so does the smell of oranges while they are peeled. I generally go with the oranges, to save people the disturbance of the explanation.” –Hung Lo

Bathroom Monologue: You might be in the mob if...

-you know the names of fifty different kinds of pasta, and a guy who can get them for you cheap, because he owes you a favor.
-you need a house with a view, and a steep drop.
-you've bought fish that actually came wrapped in newspaper.
-you've never seen The Godfather because, "I already know all the details."
-you don't find Robert DeNiro impressions funny in the least, mostly because they don't remind you of Robert DeNiro.
-rather than checking under the hood when you have engine trouble, you wonder if you've done anything bad lately.

Folks, I'll be out of town for the rest of the week, so this is the last Bathroom Monologue for a few days. I request any readers who actually give a crap about these monologues leave their own humorous conclusion to this mob sentence in the Comments feature for this post. It's an experiment... in love.

Bathroom Monologue: The Greatest Humorist

To Whom it May Concern,
Recently I was accused of being the greatest humorist alive, and this needs addressing. Firstly, "humorist" is a clumsy and ugly word. Secondly, I am not a humorist. I am a human being with a below average lifespan, and making jokes along the way is par for the course. There is nothing about being funny that makes me anything other than human, and anyone of the human condition who indulges in humor less than I do ought to be checked daily - for they may have been cured of the condition altogether.

Humor is part of life. We're made up of 60% water, after all, and if you bother to look up the etymology of "humor," you'll see it comes from "to become moist" or "the fluids or juices of an animal or plant." So firstly, even plants are humorous, and secondly, humor is a fundamental part of life. If you're 60% water, then 3/5's of your person had to get the joke just to get here. I sure hope you laughed on the way.

Humor is literally the moisture that keeps us alive. You can't cross a desert without a bottle of water, any more than I can't cross a desert without making fun of its poor real estate development. That's humorous life, my friends.

And if you're not a humorist? Then, oh dry-witted soul, you're probably part of the reason that the Sahara is spreading.

Sincerely,
Someone who has never been called so much as a "good humorist"