Bathroom Monologue: Bottle Them

If I knew why this was hilarious, I would bottle it and sell it. On the black market. No way could it be legal. If mushrooms are illegal, this kind of irrational, convulsive laughter is probably a low-scale WMD. A WLD, I guess. Weapon of Lesser Destruction. Weapon of Laughter Devastation. Weapon of Fall Out of the Chair and Hurt Your Kidney Against the Garbage Can. Which is a tough acronym, and a tougher bruise to explain. Almost as tough as explaining why the greatest laughs happen. But boy, if I could, I’d bottle them.

Bathroom Monologue: Stop the Watch

When I said the stopwatch could pause time I didn't mean you could just click the top and go rob a bank while everyone stayed still. I certainly didn't mean you could yank the batteries out and freeze the planet in place. I understand you’re dissatisfied with the purchase, but it’s user error. It's a precise mechanism, balanced and crafted down to the molecules to operate in singular fashion. It's like a woman: you've got to be careful with your touch or you're not getting anything out of it. You damn sure can't just jam the batteries back in and expect it to work like I advertised. Hey, are you listening? I said you can't just put those back in. Put them down. God knows what'll happen if you

Next Week, Vice Week

Next week there will be a different sort of serial on the Bathroom Monologues. Check in from Sunday through Saturday for a guided tour of the world of vice.

Bathroom Monologue: A Snide Moment

Cole picked a shell up off the beach and put it to his ear.

His wife snickered. “That’s too small. You’ll never hear anything in that.”

“Good,” he said, adjusting the shell over his ear. “That’s what I’m looking for.”

Bathroom Monologue: Take the Other Side

Of all the controversies in abortion, none is so contentious as the decision of several fetuses to abort their mothers. These super-intelligent fetuses argue that they didn’t agree to be here and ought not to be the ones who get flushed. Their lawyers liken the current mother/fetus legal paradigm to slavery, with things only getting worse as they near birth and will soon have to deal with global warming, meteor showers and girls.

“It’s very stressful, thinking of living a life I didn’t ask for. I’m not a vengeful man yet, but the option to abort my mother for it seems fair,” said one fetus, by tapping Morse code on his mother's abdomen. The fetus is not anonymous by choice. His parents have not yet chosen a name. It is one of his many grievances.

His lawyer, Sherman Goldstein, argues, “If his mother has the right to abort him, then certainly he ought to have the right to abort her. That’s like saying only one combatant in a war has the right to shoot.”

Mr. Goldstein is currently arguing for fetuses to have the first choice on whether or not to abort mothers before the South Dakota Supreme Court. The Justices declined to comment.

A hotter judicial topic is late term mother-abortion, which is only legal in three countries, and only in cases that put the health of the fetus at risk. In one country this has recently been broadened to include mental health, a dangerous loophole as labor draws near and fetuses, as M.R.I. prenatal brain scans suggest, grow more nervous.

One mother argued her own case in a French court this April, claiming she feared her baby would terminate her just because she couldn’t promise that the doctor wouldn’t spank him. While not so extreme, other expecting mothers have resorted to contract negotiation, promising to carry the baby several trimesters after the expected term in compromise for a “cease fire” agreement.

Bathroom Monologue: “Shit rolls down hill.” –Popular excuse for insensitive behavior

The turd fell in the freshly mowed grass. It rolled for an inch before sticking to the green blades, turning them a premature brown. It clumped and stuck.

Felix looked down the rest of the hill.

“I thought it was supposed to keep going.”

Redge shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t always.”

“Does this mean we have to deal with our own crap and not just pass it on to our subordinates?”

“I don’t know. This can’t be a legal precedent.” Redge looked down at their car. “All the same, got a baggie? Or a dog scooper? I don’t want to tempt fate. Or justice.”

Bathroom Monologue: Boo

Night vision goggles that allow him to see in zero light environments. Tactile fiber bodysuit absorbs all motion such that he makes no noise. It also covers the entire body, reducing the chance of any smells. With access to that kind of arsenal, he certainly has access to odorless, tasteless chemicals that can kill us with only a drop in our toothpaste. Or maybe he'll spray it on the bed and you'll think I wet myself when you find my corpse. He spends six nights a week working at the gym, which is why he's always gone by the time you come. That's why you haven't caught the boogeyman, daddy. But he’ll be back. You don’t make that kind of investment into something you won’t finish.

My Contributions to Max Cantor's #flagofmycountry Challenge on Twitter

-The flag of my country must touch the ground, to connect with the earth it represents. However, it may never be trampled.

-The flag of my country can be stained, dirtied and even bloodied, so long as we the people maintain what it stands for.

-Also, the flag of my country comes with a complimentary Best of Queen CD.

-The flag of my country is more absorbant than a shamwow. Even when wrung it retains some juice in its patented moral fibers

-The flag of my country has many stars and one asterisk, for the places we aren't done with yet.

-The flag of my country is actually a hologram so that even if the U.N. kicks us out, we can project it onto their building.