Bathroom Monologue: Birthed Lucky, OR, Only Casino in Town

Yahweh sat at the Bang slot machine all day. They had to kick him out at closing. He was back the next day, and stayed to closing. He returned every day of the week.

"Cherry. Cherry. Bar."

"Protein. Lipid. Protein."

"Gas. Gas. Gas. Jupiter? I don't need another of these."

He tried until the Manager took pity on him. He pulled him aside at 1:00 A.M. on Sunday and offered him a tiny white, blue and green planet.

"The white bits are gaseous water. It's essential to the integrity of the bauble. You have no idea how many quarters you'd have to sink into that thing to get one, and even the meanest waitresses don’t want to see you try. We kind of pity you."

"I don't need your pity."

"You're down on your luck. The best you got were your quarters back on Tuesday."

"Most of them," he muttered.

"So take this. Please. On the house. It comes with a moon on the key chain."

"Just one moon?"

"Just the one. If you don't want it, though..."

"No, I'll take it." Yahweh snatched it from the Manager's hand and grumbled, "I'll make it work. It's a start."

"I'm sure you'll try. Have a good weekend," said the Manager, before He showed Yahweh to the door.

Bathroom Monologue: “Republicans will be meeting with experts this morning to review alternative energy policies…” Announcer on C-SPAN

Hamsters on wheels – Biothermy from burning corpses, children with lower than a D+ average and Senators who spend over twenty years in office - Hamsters on steroids on wheels –Dimmer switch on the sun Windmills - The hopes and dreams of impoverished children – Mess with the moon until gravity relaxes – Corn – Collect pig and cow farts in massive over-farm domes, then funnel them into tankers and use them like propane – Nuclear reactors a safe distance from any dinosaur fossils – Drill for oil somewhere else – Turn around, drill in the same area again and see if the hiding oil came out

Bathroom Monologue: Cultural Analysis of the Pseudo-Homophobic High Five Ritual

There is a relatively recent ritual in some parts of the United States of America to “high-five,” or slap palms with another person, after an activity to prove one’s heterosexuality. This ritual verifies your chosen sexual identity, or, “proves you’re not gay.” This is largely performed by males, though there are isolated reports of females engaging in the ritual. The ritual is necessitated (or at least, requested to be performed) immediately following an act that might bring one’s sexuality or gender into question, such as watching a cooking show on TV or putting on a pink t-shirt. It may be initiated by the offender, though normally a second party will intervene and offer, “It’s not gay if you high-five afterwards!” In many cases the activity has no logical connection to one’s sexuality or gender, such as a heterosexual male purchasing menstrual pads for his female lover. Indeed, data shows that during the lifespan of this “high five so you won’t be gay” ritual, it has become used less and less often on actual events relating to homosexuality. Connected (and most interesting to social scientists) is that while some segments of the male population exhibit some degree of serious homophobia, many (and perhaps the majority) of those who indulge in the ritual are not in any noticeable degree homophobic. It seems to channel both a latent homophobia and a humorous mockery of other people’s homophobia, suggesting homophilia, or at least disapproval for bigotry that is expressed in a quizzically supportive manner, as opposed to the cultural norm of expressing disapproval of such matters with negativity. Anthropologists have been dispatched throughout bars and sports stadiums across America to further examine the meanings of this ritual, though it almost seems like such people aren’t actually bashing gays. Clinically speaking.

Bathroom Monologue: Start. Hunt.

Rise. Hit snooze bar. Rise. Hit snooze bar. Rise. Set coffee maker while hitting the shower. Drink coffee while making breakfast. Eat breakfast while jawing with co-workers. Draw up work crew. Suit up (don't forget the teflon gloves). Pray. Hit on Marie at the fuel depot. Head to caverns. Solar-battery flashlights for the biters. Silver axe for the furries. Flash, stab. Flash, stab. Flash, stab. Break (God bless unions). Coffee if you're lucky, conversation if you're cheap. Rent asbestos gear. Head to Fallen Houses. Fire is your friend, smoke is a traitor. Leave big daemons for the guys in armor. Go for the imps (collect heads!). Exit. Trade heads for cash. Dinner at Marie's Diner (six heads in a bag and you eat free). Drink. Return equipment. Drink. Drink. Crank call Marie. Drink. Crash. Sleep.

Bathroom Monologue: Un-Life

In some cases “Pro-Life” and “Pro-Choice” simply do not cover all the ideological ground on the abortion issue. Take for instance “Un-Life,” an ideology diametrically opposed to the Pro-Life stand that demands all children be aborted as soon as possible. They have garnered a small degree of press on major news networks for staging protests at hospital nurseries.

“We’re in a global overpopulation crisis,” says Samuel Lenshner, spokesman of the Connecticut chapter of Couples For Un-Life. “There isn’t enough food to eat in Africa. India’s population is exploding. Taking the subway to work yesterday I had the little rats crawling all over me. One soiled himself. The mother was exhausted and unable to contain them all, and all I could do was look at her with pity and think – abortion could have prevented this.”

Lenshner and fellow Un-Lifers blast Pro-Choice for being too liberal.

“Just the option of abortion for women is not enough. That still gives them the option to keep their womb-infection.” said a woman who requested to go unnamed, perhaps because of a bulging belly. “Pregnancy is hazardous a woman’s health, ruins her figure, and results in a little tax exemption that doesn’t even begin to cover how much the little bastard will eat.”

Another anonymous woman added, “Does life begin at conception or birth? We don’t know, but we do know that nuisance begins at crying.”

Lenshner weighs in further, saying the existence of adoption disproves the need for choice. “I like to think of myself as Pro-Choice. Pick any kid out of this brochure. But why make a new one? That just adds to the problem. If one of these whining, running, constantly demanding beasts has to exist, use one we have in stock. But keep it out of public.”

Links to and addresses for various orphanages are available at www.un-life.net, a non-for-profit website devoted to “preventing you from making the worst mistake of your life.”

The Un-Lifers consider China’s one-child policy to be too liberal, but are open to select “breeders.” Under the policy espoused in a 44,000-word essay on their website, the Un-Lifers explain that people living ten miles or more from anyone else and who are willing to sign contracts promising not to bring their “young” into public before “the age at which they can tie their own shoes, walk in orderly fashion in supermarkets and will shut up in a movie theatre,” may be permitted one child.

The Un-Lifers are actively pursuing mandatory sterilization as a “kinder, more sanitary alternative” to enforced abortion. A vote on the policy will be brought before the Vermont state legislature in March.

Bathroom Monologue: “One of my many flaws is perpetually confusing H.G. Wells, Orson Welles and George Orwell.” -Me

His masterwork is something of a mess. It starts out with this pig that turns himself transparent. You see, the pig has been studying theoretical sciences since he is the only species that can read - I mean, aside from the farmers. Being invisible makes the porker go a little nuts with moral ambivalence and empowerment, leading him to think some animals are more equal than others, but he'd still like to run for office. Thus begins his Citizen Pig campaign. Something leaks to the tabloids about "Rosebud," who might be his pig-lover, or worse, an interspecies affair with a known anti-government agent. Citizen Pig ultimately redeems himself by fighting the invading aliens (though no one else knows he didn't really beat them; he just sneezed on them and watched them die of the common cold). The alien invasion is really a front by the oppressive government who wind up throwing him in prison and brainwashing him. A particularly chilling scene sees a jaded actor, whose spirit was broken by having to do really lame capitalist commercials, telling him he's holding up five hooves when he only has four and whatnot. The government does all this just to find out who Rosebud was. He never gives in, though in the epilogue, as the Fascist swine are burning his stuff, we find out Rosebud was his time machine.

A Vision, with a View, OR, Funny thing is she didn’t think she was better or worse than he; “better” never occurred to her while holding his hand

She lived in a town called Should Be, and the angel loved her. He visited her every chance he got, which still wasn’t enough. Every time, she had to show him the way. He didn’t quite get it and he’d never quite do it, but boy did he like the way it made her into someone like her. The angel was rough and imperfect beneath her frail perfection, her implausibly beautiful brain, and he aspired to it, but just couldn’t live in Should Be. It didn’t work in his world. He tried, and he fought, and he sang, and he wrote, and ultimately he politicked with the ultimate one, but even with a permission slip from on high, he just couldn’t pay the rent in Should Be. For lack of idealism, but not for lack of trying, the angel surprised her one day by waving from his new apartment, on the top floor of a high rise in Want, a little burg on the outskirts of Should Be, with a view right into her room. They had great fun running a clothesline between their windows. He couldn’t live in her city or her morals, but for love of a better person, he could make the commute.