Saturday, February 21, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: “Some say now is not the time to point fingers. We disagree.” –Anderson Cooper, CNN

"Now is not the time to point fingers. I know we settled on a bailout two weeks ago, but it is not yet time for blame-assignment. Now is the time for me to run away, as my fellow board members are. Now is the time for you to continue being shocked things went this badly, and to hug the life savings you once had. Perhaps cry a little. But not to point fingers! When I am out of the room, a safe distance away from U.S. jurisdiction, then will be the time to point fingers. When I am on a beach with a 15-year-old wearing a grass skirt and edible body paint, then will be the time to point fingers. When I can no longer hear you being angry."

Friday, February 20, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: The F.o.S.P.

Friends of Sexual Predators is a controversial lobbyist group. They want to change the name by which individuals who commit sex crimes are called, claiming the group has created “true” sexual predators.

“Some guy messing with kids at a bus stop isn’t a sexual predator,” says Dr. Samual Shelby, an MIT graduate with a focus on theoretical biology. “He’s a deviant. A monster. The true sexual predator is a life form that can subsist off of sex, like the people we’re trying to grow in these test tubes.”

Shelby and his fellow researchers claim to be working on a new system of digestion that runs the body entirely on sexual intercourse.

One of his assistants explains, “The orgasm is a heck of an emotional kick. It produces a lot of energy. The sex drive is already almost as strong as hunger, so why not tie them together? It’ll trump veganism before long.”

Dr. Shelby nods. “No more senseless murder of soy plants. Just because it didn’t scream doesn’t mean you didn’t kill it.”

Dr. Shelby is a happy omnivore, but claims to look forward to “a more moral future for dining.”

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: Utters and Cans

[GARY sits on one side of the booth in a lime green tuxedo, minus the bowtie. SAMID sits to his right in a banana yellow tuxedo, wearing two bowties, one banana yellow, one lime green. ARYANA sits on the opposite side of the booth in a chainmail tuxedo. A miniature version of the planetoid PLUTO floats in an ambient purple light between ARYANA and SAMID. GRANDPA sits at the head of the booth in a chair he stole from the bar, wearing overalls and lobster bib.]

Samid: It can’t have been that bad.
Gary: Her orgasm couldn’t have been faker if it had come out of a can.
Aryana: You should hold off for some good religious sex. Nothing like a bar next to a Catholic church the day after Lent. Nobody fakes anything when they’re that desperate.
Samid: You go to church? I thought you were a polytheist.
Aryana: I made out with a preacher and caught mono. His tongue was very convincing.
Pluto: There you go, Gary. Make out with a preacher.
Gary: I don’t want to be converted that way.
Grandpa: Back in my day if you had a cowgirl fetish you banged a girl in chaps and a hat. These days if you’ve got a cowgirl fetish she’s probably got utters and only exists on deviantart.
Samid: What would we do without you, grandpa?
Grandpa: Burn in a Hell of centaur fetishes and estimations of celestial mass!
Pluto: I miss being a planet…

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: Elite, oft-conflated in anger with something else

The government of elites was very successful. They had the elite-level speechwriters compose the most motivating things, and they had much to write about. They wrote praise of elite-level foreign policy experts that kept peace on the borders. They wrote praise of elite economists that helped money flow more freely and always paid attention to raising the lower class wages and general job growth. Elite governors delegated funds deftly, keeping necessary programs open. Natural disasters kept happening, and there were crises – unemployment hit 3% one year. But elite decision makers minimized casualties when the earth quaked, and got support to the unemployed before the economy could employ them again. Mostly, the elites got out of the way and let the market do what it needed, but elite judges and legislatures kept very strict laws to keep them from doing anything too selfish, and publicly punished those who transgressed. There were times when the populace got fed up with the slickness of the elite, or how removed they seemed to be from common sense, but they kept re-electing them.

Bathroom Monologue: Elitist, oft-defended in comfort as though it was something else

The government of elitists was very unpopular, no matter which of the two major elitist parties was elected. They weren’t the smartest but they were amazingly connected and wealthy, and with resources came media dominance and the shunting of radical thought. Somebody’s friend ran a national bureau, and so it didn’t respond in time to a hurricane and many people died. Elitist businessmen and elitist politicians worked hand-in-hand, legislating and delegating until the only surprise about a market crash or rampant unemployment was that they’d let it happen again. And all along they turned up their noses at third parties, and ignored polls when the populace disagreed with their choices. After all, this was a government by the wise. The self-established wise said so. The populace, seeing wages shrink, medicine in disarray, and unable even to comprehend issues thanks to wise news organizations, would have loved to kick them all out, or pretended to themselves that the next well-connected candidate wasn’t like all the other cronies. And the elitists kept getting re-elected, because there wasn’t anybody else.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: Anti-Deerism

The life of a settler was hard. Even small discoveries skewed your life. Those berries were poisonous on this continent! And the wildlife? “Holy crap, it’s a small horse with branches coming out of its head! Did a tree rape a pony?” Yeah, to us they’re deer, but to the settler who’d never seen them before, they were the army of the Anti-Christ. And they were eating his tulips.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Stumbleupon the Bathroom

The Bathroom Monologues are now affiliated with, a democratic media site like Digg (and we're probably going to link to Digg shortly). Essentially anyone with an account on can "stumble," or vote favorably for this site or any post on it, making it more visible to everyone on that network. If enough people give it a thumbs up or a review, it could get a lot of attention. If you have an account or are thinking of signing up, please give us a look at ! The site promotes a toolbar, but it isn't necessary to use their browsing features or vote.

My site was originally stumbled by Cassandra Nichols, but I've just signed up now. So, thank you Cassie! I've also had a few visitors through Lex Paige, who stumbled two of my 55-word monologues. I was very flattered.

Bathroom Monologues: Can I still do this?

Remember when the goblins first tried to storm the great north? They came from a tropic region, so they were woefully unprepared. By their standards, anyway. By human standards, holy shit! I mean, they were driving war machines that belched flamed. Humans didn’t even know what oil was yet, aside from some sort of water that was kind of a jerk when you tried to drink it.

Sure, goblins had invented the wheel, but not the snow tire. So you had these massive engines of destruction spinning out of control and sliding back down the mountains. One of the colonels fell out his war machine and slid two entire miles before almost perishing in a snow bank. As soon as he clambered out he ordered his entire unit to try that.

The campaign was retarded for three days by soldiers converting their shields to toboggans. Taking the next ridge meant sledding back down. Goblin engineers that had formerly invented the war engine converted it into the ski lift.

Half-hearted attempts at storming human civilizations were waged, but they kept returning to their lodges for cocoa and the comfort of ski bunnies. They wound up just making their own country along the border of the north. The only reason northern human civilizations have survived future goblin invasions is that original goblin country, which repels all others who they see as attempting to steal their slopes.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Bathroom Monologue: Anti-Anti-Flag

“It's not that I want to ban flag burning. Censorship is petty and stupid, even when it’s censoring petty and stupid art. I comprehend the appeal of burning a flag. You think they've gravely oppressed, slighted and injured the group that most defines you today. Perhaps they invaded a weak country on phony motivation, or trampled your race's civil rights. So you take their symbol and destroy it. You immolate it, reduce it to ashes, maybe stamp it out on the ground, and maybe dance on it. It's small, selfish and it generally doesn't help your cause unless your cause is spite. If anything it ought to be discontinued not by law, but by radicals with smarter and more progressive things to do with lighter fluid, like throw a barbecue, invite everybody and explain what the guilty party has done over free hotdogs (Kosher hotdogs, if you’re feeling very progressive).

“But the reason I won't cry if flag burning is banned is not because it's moronic. We don't ban Yo Momma jokes and pants with "JUICY" on the butt (nor should we ban burning them). I won't cry because if it’s banned then the tradition would remain in the hands of the truly disenfranchised and pissed off. Something being illegal has never stopped a truly angry protestor. If it were banned, you'd risk something in doing it. If you risk nothing to do it, then some day it will be so mainstream that some nimrod whose greatest woe is not getting Madden on opening day is going to burn one just because he's bored and got a webcam for his 16th birthday. When that youtube rebel co-ops a symbol from people whose homes were bombed... well, crap. Symbolism might as well ban us.”
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