Bathroom Monologue: I can’t think of a pun title for this one, and it needs one, Or, Sorry to George Michaels

Well I guess it would be iced
If I could make your coffee
I know not everybody
Makes coffee like you

But I’ve gotta think twice
Before I give the maker away
And I know all the beans you use
Because I brew them too

Oh but I need some time off
From the locomotion
Last cup left me twitching on the floor

And when the last drop comes
Without some creamer
Well it takes a strong man, baby
But I’m showing you the pourer

‘Cause I gotta have… tea.

Sorry for the Songs and Puns

I’m not sorry for anything I’ve written in the Bathroom Monologues about theology, technology, epistemology, politics, science or the grand religion of literary tradition, but I am sorry for the puns and song parodies. I can convince myself that most of what I’ve written was partially true or would be funny to someone, but that’s not the case with the puns and song parodies. These creep up on me, and like a dead mouse in the mouth of a house cat, I can’t help but wander around the premises and show it off. I believe it may be a neurosis.

Bathroom Monologue: You’re all dear to me

Tom had a way of calling his wife, "My dear" in a way that sounded much more like, "Medea." This strange accent tended to pop up when she criticized the groceries he bought or ordered him around when he was driving. She never got it, but their friends thought it was very funny.

Bathroom Monologue: May Noah and Pratchett Live Forever, not in their own memories, not in mine, but in the printed word

A friend just instant messaged with me, and after discussing some silly internet fads, she IM’d, “Noa rgument.” This is a run of the mill typo, but I have the irresistible urge to pun off of typos – both my own and those of others.

I responded, “The Noah Argument? I believe that goes, “Fine, don’t believe me. I’ll go build a boat.””

Fortunately, she laughed at that one.

I’m not sure why the ghost of Terry Pratchett hovered over that typo pun. Why is Mr. Pratchett a ghost when he isn’t even dead yet? I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s writing a novel about it.

Bathroom Monologue: New Program - Cutting Slack

I think people should be allowed to get away with things based on a certain amount of crap going on in their lives. For instance, if you look like you've had an awful and exhausting day, I won't curse at you for cutting me off at an intersection. If the bank is foreclosing on your house, you shouldn't be held liable for kicking in their window on the way out - or the windows of the bank manager's Mercedes, if it's parked reasonably close to the window.

In this scheme, there should be a deluxe package for people who get seriously boned by fate. If you have terminal cancer, or you will be in chronic, unmedicatable pain for the rest of your natural life, you don't have to pay attention to stop lights, you can gas and dash all you want, and if you feel like believing something, like maybe Marxism could work out or that Mormonism nailed it, you get to believe that stuff without contest for as long as you like, with no obligation to buy and unlimited opportunity to exchange. We actually encourage you to believe as many things as possible, and to switch whenever the whim strikes. We’ll even provide message boards accessible exclusively to people with the proper entitlement passcode, so your belief will not be challenged. Instead you’ll be allowed to converse with like-minded people, at least until one of you decides to change your mind from Jainism to Freakonomics. We’ll send you a brochure every month with all the newest ideas and paradigms that you can try on, so long as you promise not to force them onto anyone else. This is all you (and the other guys at http://www.solipsism.webboards.gov/).

Healthy people won’t be allowed into this service because their health makes them cocky and insecure in ways that prevent such mental plasticity. They need to be sure their one thing is right and never goes unchallenged so that they can go on living the model life that you’re incapable of sustaining. Somebody who doesn’t have to worry about how to afford chemo can afford to be a dick to Creationists. Meanwhile, you may find believing Creationism for a weekend to be refreshing. If not, there’s always evolutionary psychology on Monday, flat earth on Tuesday, and extraterrestrial conspiracies for your spare time. I figure if the universe fills your uterus with tumors, then we, your planetary roommates, can afford to give you belief-Netflix.

Bathroom Monologue: Oh, Venerable Masters

“Remember three things,” said the venerable master.

His disciple waited several moments, but the master said nothing.

“What are the three things, master?” The disciple asked. “My mind is open.”

“Uhm.” The venerable master stirred his tea nervously. “I was hoping you’d remember them.”

Bathroom Monologue: Really, really too proud of these puns

"John, could you hang this up for me?"
"Where did Robin Hood hide?"
"Huh?"
"Sure would."

Bathroom Monologues: The Virtue of Society

"Society is what the smarter animals use to get things done. If you're useful to other animals, you get to be part of the society. It doesn’t matter how you are useful. You can be physically useful, emotionally useful, economically, inspirationally, politically, and on and on. Family is one module. Businesses are another. Being a caring brother, having a job, owing a mortgage – these are all ways in which you are useful. But sometimes people are not useful enough. These people do not get to be as big a part of society. Society takes parts of them: their possessions, their values, their self-esteem. For instance, the mentally damaged are not useful enough. They are not emotionally useful to their families or physically useful to the workforce. They get put in little rooms where they get to live out their lives, in a filing cabinet in the back of society until they can be made useful enough to warrant letting them out. These animals still have values. Things are still important to them. They still want possessions and relationships to other animals. But they don’t get to, because they aren’t helping society get things done. This is the compassion of animals.”

Bathroom Monologue: “For the sun, even a million years is a blip in time.” –Narrator, History Channel’s The Universe

“A blip? You think a million years is little to me? Why is it that you humans think something with a longer period of existence cares less about time? A million years is a treasure trove to me. It is a million units of how far my radiance can reach. The measure of my grasp. Every microsecond my atoms collide and fuse. Millions, billions, trillions of reactions a minute, and I know every one of them better than you know what you behold with your eyes. My core is denser than solid lead and hotter than gaseous metal, down to the atoms, expanding broader than your planet, all the time. I am a miracle. A million years is not a blip. It is a kingdom of radiance. It is a very long time. It is only a blip in relation to the time I waited for you.”

Bathroom Monologue: This Lobe o’ Mine

"I've never tried to be logical. No, that's not true. I used to try very hard to be logical, and I was very good at it, but it was not very good at me. We had a bad break-up, and now we only cross paths when we date the same person. I wish that would stop happening."

Then Dr. Mento looked around, saw that no one was there, and primed the drill to penetrate the center of the earth. This would quiet those stupid voices.