Bathroom Monologue: God Don’t Like Ugly

"I don't think we're ever the same person, after a loss or vacation, or even day to day. Haven't we all changed from yesterday? Even as I say this, some of my cells are dying and they’ll never be back. We’re never quite the same. Yet God's blessed me with the ability to remain ugly no matter what happens. Lipstick, blush, face lifts, wonder bras and compliments won’t do anything but change the shape and shade of my ugliness. It's how I know that I'm still me. I’m eternally unpleasant. I couldn’t ask for more."

Bathroom Monologue: “…the hell of solipsism.” –Donald Barthelme, A Shower of Gold

Blasvius the Disbeliever walked through the various infernos without swear or interest. Not that he really walked – that would require there be a space through which he was traveling, which was absurd. This Hell was but the latest fantasy, no more real than the supermarket had been until that imaginary soup can display supposedly crushed him to death.

Still, he entertained himself with the illusions of suffering masses. Those who believed there was fire screamed and roasted; those who believed in water were up to their necks in lakes but couldn’t bend far enough to sip. Those who believed in love were tormented in such thoughtful and malevolent fashion that he almost believed in their tormenter.

“But no,” he declared to the illusions of agony. “I must be making it all up. Otherwise I’d be suffering. Solipsism is the only non-Hell.”

His stomach growled, and for an instant he wanted a snack from the vending machine outside the supermarket in which he’d died. For an instant, he was ready to believe in that vending machine.

Somewhere, a tormentor cackled. Blasvius tried not to believe it, but the number pad was already taking shape in front of him.

Bathroom Monologue: Another sudden bout of bathroom dialogue

"You said life wasn't worth living without her, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Then let's go get in some cars and kick ass. Got one rocket left in the launcher, and that’ll punch a hole in the wall. From there, it’s mostly a case of running and ducking security guards."

"We can't storm the prison! We'll be--"

"Killed? But you said life wouldn't be worth living. So either we rescue her, or we die. Not much of a loss given the circumstances, right?"

Bathroom Monologue: Centaur Hanging

When we finally caught those rogue centaurs I had them strung up like common criminals. Pushed them onto the platform and spearpoint, then pulled the planks from under them. Four hooves a-piece flailing desperately for but a second. Their necks snapped from the weight of their asses. Put the fear of God into them, and finally I could say that even the women in their tribe were hung like horses.

The Best of Bathroom Monologue Twittering

"Michael Jackson Funeral Set For Tuesday At Staples Center" -NPR

"Jackson to be buried under children's water fountain." -Unconfirmed



Bronze statue of Ronald Reagan unveiled today. "I didn't know he was black!" say children.



"Decades After WWII, Female Pilots Finally Honored " –NPR

"Sitcoms not worth producing, but their progressive themes had merit" -Anonymous



"Organization Of American States Meets On Honduras" –NPR

"Honduran government worried how American land masses will return home." -Anonymous



"Obama Hopes For New Russian Relationship" -NPR

"President hopes she's blonde" -Anonymous



No one ever mentions it, but a synonym for “motherf*cker” is “dad.”



"Oil Price Rise Leads To Proposed Crackdown On Speculators" –NPR

"President: Thinking about what's coming causes ulcers, stress" -Anonymous



Gail Simone asks for worst possible Superhero Movie Casting:

Jeff Goldblum as Mr. Fantastic, Ru Paul as Sue Storm, Richard Simmons as Johnny, Julian McMahon as Doom



"Need For Campaign Cash Opens Door For Lobbyists " –NPR

"Lobbyists go missing; door to Twilight Zone found mysteriously open." -Anonymous



"Iraqi Insurgents Turn To Small But Deadly Weapon" –NPR

"Terrorists may find Hercules Beetle's name deceptive" -Anonymous



“Report: Sotomayor Is 'Solidly In The Mainstream' Of Her Circuit" –NPR

"Solid objects move slower in streams than liquids." -Science Teacher



"Ghosts Of Nominees Past Haunt Sotomayor Hearing" –NPR

"Supreme Court Nominee bursts into hysterics at Christmas carols." -Anonymous



"Forget The Frisbee, Cool Dogs Catch Waves" -NPR

"Cats catch particles, theorize on nature of light." -Anonymous



"Kim Jong Il Reported Ill; Who Will Take His Place?" –NPR

"Kim Jong IV Eyeing Throne." -Anonymous



"Obama Challenges Critics On Health Care " –NPR

"Obama will arm wrestle you for free medicine. Be a man, Congress." -Anonymous



“CIA Director Leon Panetta Threatened To Quit Over Justice's Torture Tack" –NPR

"Gummy tacks are less painful, more humane." –Anonymous



"Court Rules Law Enforcement Went Too Far In Baseball Steroid Probe" –NPR

"Judge: if it goes over the fence, they can shoot it up." -Fan



"Giuliani May Have His Eye On The New York Governor's Mansion" –NPR

"Child dispatched with pool skimmer to get eye off roof" -Anonymous



"Washington Prepares to Say Farewell" –NPR

"George: Okay, I'm going. But please do something about those slaves." –Anonymous



"Is Pentagon Trying To Shape War Coverage?" –NPR

"This conflict has five sides." -Anonymous



"Man Bites Off Tip Of Another Man's Pinky Finger At Health-Care Protest" –NPR

"Surgery Too Expensive, Pinky Discarded." -Anonymous

Bathroom Monologue: Social Creature

“I always thought self-determination was the most important thing until I fell down this hole. The walls are slippery and it’s gotten dark again. This is my second night down here and I’m pretty hungry. I’m beginning to suspect I’m less of an individual and more of a social creature. Those wolves sound like social creatures and I’d really appreciate anyone showing up before they do. If anyone can hear me. Hello? Hello?”

Comment Moderation Off

Though doubled over from kidney pain this morning, I managed to turn off Comment Moderation and subscribe to Comments. I'll still be notified whenever somebody leaves feedback, but now you won't have to put up with the annoying wait before you can see your comment below my story. Fascinating the stuff you can figure out when you're too sick to sleep. I never intended moderation to seem condescending or overprotective - it was just the only way to be notified people were leaving comments, and on a blog with hundreds of posts like this I like to get messages when one receives a new comment. So comment freely.

Excuse me while I run to the bathroom again.

Bathroom Monologue: Materialism is the ideal that there are no ideals

[XINHUA sits on one side of the booth in a pink tuxedo. He looks identical to GARY, even in skin tone and the fold of his eyes, yet he has that vague Asianness about him that white people cannot articulate but makes them think he is secretly a ninja. SAMID sits to his left in a pink tuxedo. The planetoid PLUTO, shrunken to the size of a basketball, levitates near the window part of the booth, wearing a “WHERE IS GARY?” t-shirt. CHESTER A. ARTHUR sits alone on the other side of the booth, wearing his usual finery.]

Former President Arthur: The new president is a pragmatist. Look at that stimulus bill. The man gets things done.

Xinhua: My colon gets things done. Just because you do things doesn’t mean you suddenly stop thinking and having ideals. You do things because you’re working towards some idea.

Pluto: Idealism is bound for failure. It deals with what you want rather than what is; it deals with a world that doesn’t exist. Unrealistic nonsense.

Samid: This again. Materialists insult idealism for referring to a world that doesn’t exist, and they have to because their philosophy insults itself by referring to a world that does. Materialism itself is the pettiest idealism: the ideal that there are no ideals. It negates itself even as it insists that we ignore right and wrong, ought and should, let babies starve, the sicker grow weak and wars be fought.

Former President Arthur: Most wars are fought for ideas.

Xinhua: I’m pretty sure wars have been waged for materials. Let me call Africa and get back to you.

Former President Arthur: Only because they had ideas of what to do with those materials.

Samid: Stockpiling disproves that. People build up wealth they have no plans to use.

Xinhua: Because of conscious or unconscious ideas of comfort and security in having those materials. Again, idealism.

Pluto: You realize in arguing for idealism you’ve just said all bank robbers and strip miners are idealists?

Samid: There shouldn’t be a conflict between the two forces. We have ideas about materials. Pragmatism can be put to work for better things, but a world run on it will see high suicide rates. You’ll go insane if all you are is practical.

Pluto: You’ll also eat with greater reliability.

Former President Arthur: Ideals will not feed babies or cure the sick, but they will tell you that you should.

Samid: Without the imaginative compulsion, there is no use for pragmatism, just as there is no use to be effective at anything unless you first admit the appeal of doing it. To pretend that anyone is not made up of some parts pragmatic and some parts idealistic is unpragmatic.

Former President Arthur: If you sincerely believed in the merits of pragmatism, you would not have made your case on such abstract and therefore idealistic grounds. Evidence wins the hearts of a hundred men before one can read the caption.

Samid: You, sir, are a formidable opponent.

Former President Arthur: Thank you, my boy. Now can someone tell me why Gary’s been replaced by a Chinaman?

Bathroom Monologue: Possible Origins For Him. 1.

There is an audio edition of this story. To listen either click the triangle on the left to begin streaming audio, or click this text to download the MP3.

I wasn’t bombarded by cosmic rays. My parents weren’t shot and a clown didn’t fly through my window as I was calculating revenge. I like clowns, though. They aren’t scary or menacing. You make them that way, when all they want to do is make you smile. They don’t care if you’re a Muslim or emo or President of these United States. You could have the codes to all the nuclear weapons in the world, and all a clown wants to do is make you chuckle. That’s why he scares you – he’s unhinged from your forced habits. I like that.

I wasn’t a clown. I was a pharmacist. Used sugar and food coloring to put smiley faces on lollipops for kids who didn’t want to take their medicine. That’s my story. Day after day. Lollipop after lollipop. The child comes in crying and leaves happy, sucking on grape or lime. Mom comes in frowning, fakes a smile for the pharmacist, puts up with his antics, then, when she’s paid and thinks she’s out of eyeshot, goes back to frowning. Mom’s smile isn’t real, kids, no matter how much sugar and food coloring you put on it. You’ve got to follow her into the parking lot, climb into the back seat, catch her by the scalp and dig in there with a straight razor if you want to give her a smile that won’t go away. That’s my story.

But that’s also small scale. Eventually a clown’s got to play to bigger audiences. You’ve got to put money away. 401K – not for retirement, but terrorism. A pharmacist can make a lot, especially when he does his shifts alone and tampers with the billing. And he has access to so many handy chemicals – wholesale!

Adults will pay anything for their drugs. It helps them fake things. I handed them their Rx lies, and rang up the bill. That’s what I’m serving everybody now. Grape, lime, and the bill. This isn’t a trench coat – it’s a lab coat dyed purple! I want to see you laugh, Gotham. I want to see your smile. Not the one you put on when you walk by security guards and bar tenders. You just insist on turning back into pumpkins at midnight when your fairytale fix of alcohol wears off. And if you’re going to insist turning back into pumpkins, then I’m going to carve you like a Jack O’Lantern. I’ll find that smile in there somewhere. That’s my story.

Bathroom Monologue: Holy Grounds and Coffee

Chandler sat down on the front pew with the rookies, taking Kerick’s knife and beginning another stake. In the light of all the candles and church glass, his Santa white beard looked stained orange.

“It’s not that vampires can’t walk on holy ground,” he said, purposefully stroking the knife in Kerick’s direction. The shaving fell into the rookie’s lap. “It’s that they know I’m waiting there for them. It all began here, in this parish, on that there altar. One of those disrespectful neck-biters tried to drink my minister. He was a fine orator, and damaging those pipes was unforgivable. I nailed them to the ground and made them see sun-up through these windows.”

He gestured with the knife to the stained glass scenes. Christ carrying his cross, Mary mourning, and the Devil laughing.

“Good way to start a legend. You kill enough of them around holy ground and eventually they think they physically can’t enter. Really, it’s that they’re sissies.”

A query in response to the “anathema” plots list on http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/submissions/

It's strongly recommended that you read the banned plots list on http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/submissions/ before reading the following query.

I recently pulled a story from my trunk that I think would be perfect for your publication. Cain is a vampire tracked by Satan thanks to the psychic HIV he contracted from a tainted communion. He flees upon the advice of a talking cat and talking sword, which naturally keep calling him "thou." He and Abel found the sword in a field when they were playing as children before a time-traveling sexy vampire popped out and killed his brother and raped Cain (I know it sounds perfect for *that* anthology, but I intended this for your magazine). Though he knows Satan and the time-traveling sexy vampire are going to invade the Exodus-era of earth with their Faster-Than-Light zombie army, that era’s milquetoast governments provide no help in stopping them and are really the biggest obstacle. The talking cat (Chatty Cathy) advises Cain assemble a heroic party of Libertarians at the local inn, and though he finds a motley band of bohemians that could turn the war around, they despise him based on what history says he did. The end is a great gory battle scene where Cain spills Satan's intestines using a three-month-old copy of Scientific American (the one with the article about evolutionary psychology). “Cain is Able” is complete at 5,002 words. I’ve submitted it to a bunch of magazines simultaneously, but I’m sure they won’t mind me turning them down when you accept it.

Bathroom Monologue: Welcome to the Lady in the Lake Weapons Shop.

Welcome to the Lady in the Lake Weapons Shop. You’d like to see our wares?

The repeating rifle is 19,000 pounds.

The laser sabre is 43,000 pounds.

The laser cannon, 200 yards penetration model, is 65,000 pounds.

The laser cannon, 300 yards penetration model, is 85,000 pounds.

The combination magnetic meteorite summoner and launcher is on sale at 100,000 pounds, down from 150,000.

And we have an array of hydrogen bombs starting as low as 110,000 pounds, for a set of five.

What's that? The sword in back with the funny scabbard? Oh, saints. It's been so long since we sold one that I don't remember the price. How much have you got on you, little Arthur?

Bathroom Monologue: No Children Under 22 Admitted

"He can't be Asian. That's just racist. A guy named Blackjack can be white for the irony, and because most people who play blackjack at all are white. And he can be named black for obvious reasons. But Asian? That's not ironic! That's just weird!"

Bathroom Monologue: This Place is Flat

Welcome to the flats. The citizens don’t know about the rest of the world, but they’ve taken topography and bought enough carpenter’s levels to know that every mile of this place is flat. They’re not near the ocean, but when a carriage disappears, it does not sink over the horizon. None even come back, unless they fall upwards. Things fall up more often than you’d think, but you get used to it, and even appreciate it when you knock your drink over and don’t have to clean the carpet. Yes, it’s flat, things can fall up, and winged foot racing is the local pastime. How fast can you run to the sun? You can do it, right? Your country better, because they’ll host the Olympics sooner or later, and they know the game they’ll add.

Have you seen my R.A.Q.? 2009 Edition

Shelly asks, "What made hats for men go out of style? Everyone used to wear hats all the time. What happened?"

-Sports happened. Baseball caps were cheaper, lighter and provided direct shade for the eyes, as well as allowing one to associate with any sort of team or brand. Soon they were further accessorized until they were the head covering of choice for their generation, and that generation grew up to set the standard. Unfortunately humanity soon realized baseball caps look exceedily lame on anyone besides a pitcher or a mechanic, and thus many abandoned hat-wearing entirely.

Max asks, "Is Hellboy Ron Perlman wearing a Hellboy suit? Or is Ron Perlman Hellboy, wearing a Ron Perlman suit?"

-If you've seen Perlman without make-up, you know he's Hellboy wearing a human suit.

Samari asks, "Who put the bop in "The Bop she bop" and why would they do that?"

-To enable that woman to live her dreams of performing a verb on a noun of the same name.

KingAC asks, “If you could be any contest from a VH1 Reality show, who would you be and why?”

-I would be the contest where nobody did anything annoying for half an hour (minus commercials). Though I suspect such a contest has never happened on a reality show, given the opportunity, I would will this into existence and then be it, for the good of my fellow man.

Cassie asks, “What happened to the vest? Is it due for a comeback?”

-The vest is part of a time when men cared about their appearance. Between the Woodstock anti-capitalist period and the Gangster lazy millionaire periods of American society, spending ridiculous amounts of money to look like you didn’t care how you looked took over. The vest was drugged by nudists, stabbed several times by apparel with logos on it, and ultimately thrown in a sack and tossed in the river by ironic t-shirts. Vests could make a comeback. So could Grigorii Rasputin.

Laurita asks, “What is your favourite use for socks?”

-I have a terrible allergy to cats. They drive up my asthma and touching their fur causes woeful hives. Prolonged exposure could be fatal. My favorite use for socks is to cover my hands so I can pet them, pick them up, and throw them outside.

Roscoe asks, "What were the Egyptians up to during the middle ages? From Cleopatra to the British Empire it's like they didn't exist."

-Mostly, Europe happened to them. After Queen Cleopatra the 7th played with some snakes, Octavian annexed Egypt as a Roman province. The Romans taxed the heck out of the native Egyptians, and both parties were pretty big dicks to the Jews. Christianity popped up, like it does. Then Islam popped up, in the form of people with weapons running into the country. They were repelled for a while, but eventually the European Byzantine Empire got distracted and the Muslims pretty much got the place by default (and by default, I mean a lot more bloodshed). Various Islamic powers passed Egypt around like a hot potato until the Turks buttered it and added it to the Ottoman Empire. Europeans came back a while later to find they didn't like the furniture and declared a whole bunch of crusades. Some crusades were Christian, many were financial, and one came in the form of Napolean saying he really liked Muhammad and his book. None lasted and eventually the British took over to set up the highly anticipated World War Trilogy, which as we all know, fell apart halfway through.

That's it for this year's RAQ. I'm off to celebrate my birthday (or sleep through most of it). The Comments section is active below and there's a Wishlist link on the right side of the site. Here's to another year of seeing if I can keep this daily thing up.

60 Second Writing Challenge: What wouldn’t you let servants do for you?

No Grace, you cannot eat my food for me! You! Let go of the remote! Listen, choosing the channels I watch is not a servant's job. Go vacuum. Go do the laundry. It’s almost spring. Mow the lawn! Why the Hell are you sitting on my furniture instead of moving it upstairs? There are some things a guy insists he do himself, and then there are some things he insists other people not do – like wearing my clothes! Come on, that’s creepy.

( Inspired by http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/ )

R.A.Q. 2 Rising

This is the last day to add questions for the R.A.Q. If you've come up with any more, drop them in the Comments of this post, or the original. I'll see you all on my birthday, with Rarely Given Answers.

Bathroom Monologue: Zoroastrian Dodgeball

Ahura Mazda, the Uncreated Creator, stood on one side of the gym. Ahriman, bastion of chaos and destruction, stood on the other. The surveyed the line-up of potential players.

As always, destruction won the coin toss.

“I call Apollo,” said Ahriman. “He’s god of almost everything and knows a thing or two about sports.”

“Dodgeball will be in the Olympics next year,” Apollo said, trotting over to the evil side.

Ahura Mazda shook his head. “Narrow-minded. I call God.”

“I’m not playing,” said a transcendent voice. Instead a diminutive North African with a nice beard and a blue robe showed up. He looked hopeful. “It gets boring and Apollo always winds up crying. You can have My only begotten son.”

“We don’t want Jesus! He’s a wuss!”

“He’s not a wuss. He’s a pacifist.”

“Pacifists suck at sports.”

“Pacifists can excel at the cerebral, respectable sports. But if you intend to play this like brutal idiots, yes, you and My son are screwed.”

“Lend a hand," cried Ahura. "I’m pretty much You!”

“That analog trick doesn’t work on Me. I’m in all things.”

The guy in the blue robe trotted over to the side of good. Ahriman sneered.

“I call over… the God of War.”

Half a googolplex of gods went over to the left, some in Greek armor, some in Chinese plate, and millions in grass skirts and wielding pointy sticks.

“That is cheating!” proclaimed Ahura. “You can’t just call what they stand for and take all of them!”

“That’s a fair rule and I second its use henceforth. But you can’t apply rules retroactively, so the gods of war stay on my side.”

Ahura Mazda glowered at his nemesis.

“Fine. I call Gaia.”

The entire planet earth got up from under the gym and moved to Ahura Mazda’s side of the line.

“Shouldn’t be that hard to hit her,” said Angra.

“Should be pretty hard to hit anything hiding behind her,” said Ahura. “Plus, being a spheroid, she might even count as a ball that could hit everyone on your side in one throw.”

Angra Mainyu nodded in hateful respect. “You’ve gotten good at this game.”

Mother of Mercy

"Actually beginning in 1996 they stopped using lethal injections. The electric chair went out long before that. Those stories are just perpetuated to put fear into the public. I’m surprised the government doesn’t pretend you’re guillotined or torn apart by horny badgers. It’s the final meal that kills you. They drug it. They cook whatever you want, make you all happy and relaxed, and before you know it your Georgia potato salad puts you to sleep. They consider it a merciful capital punishment."

Bathroom Monologue: I was the oldest child and the last to learn to tie my shoes

I kneel before my son. He is chubby cheeked and almost cherubic, except for the evil Transformers on his little tee. He kicks up a foot and I take it in one hand.

“You’re my boy,” I tell him, “and I want you to understand how there is harmony in the universe. All life is patterns.”

“Okay, dad,” he says, unfazed thanks to years of comic books about cosmic struggles.

“You’ve got this shoe here,” I say, wiggling his foot. He nods with polite interest.

“And see how the other one looks the same, but flipped over to fit the other foot?”

He nods again, a little less polite. “No shit, dad,” he could say if he knew how to swear. “Shoes match.”

“They do. And you lace them up the same, then tie a knot.”

His lips pull down. He’s been struggling with tying his shoes.

“Look,” I say, squeezing his sneaker. He looks and I narrate, taking one lace by the neb, “I make one loop with this lace, and then what do I do with the other?”

“Make another loop?”

“That’s right! The two sides imitate each other. Then you cross them, like so.”

I pinch and loop the laces. One makes a circle, and the other goes through it.

“Did you see how they did different things there, but swapped sides? One is still one each of your shoe. Pull them tight like that, and you make one whole knot that’s actually a pattern of two laces doing the same stuff.”

He frowns down at Megatron on his shirt. “I don’t get it.”

I release his left foot and pick up the right one.

“You will, with repetition.”

Bathroom Monologue: Of Car Culture

The two most important things in the county are cars and children. They are signs of fortune. The custom with new cars is for a neighbor, normally your best friend, to come over and take a look. He will do some damage to the vehicle; perhaps crush a bug on the windshield, or make a scrape on the hood. The damage is seldom inside the vehicle, usually around the front so the new owner will see it every time he walks around. If it’s a stain, he is not to wash it off. And if it a permanent knick, he does not complain. The point is to relieve anxiety, for every new car is worn down and produces problems that unharassed owners obsess over. The car that has been marked by a neighbor reminds its owner every day that little imperfections will accrue, and they do not matter.

The same sort of friendly is not done to newborn children when they are brought home, as within hours a baby shits itself. Babies require less disillusionment than cars, and strangely, the men come over less to see them.

Bathroom Monologue: Better ways Macbeth could have ended

-Captain Crunch sails in and beheads the jerk. Macbeth doesn’t even get the chance to lament in unbearably stilted verse at him over it. No, Crunch just sails right in and swings. As the audience mills out of the Globe Theatre, he can explain that as a cartoon mascot he was invented by a marketing firm, and thus was not of woman born.

-Eowyn rides in disguised as a Northumberland soldier and stabs Macbeth to death. She then collapses, infected by his evil, but is later restored to health by Gandalf’s knowledge of herbs.

-Lady Macbeth fucking kills him because they’re the only two developed characters in the fucking play and thus should probably interact in the fucking conclusion.

-The witches show back up and turn out to be realtors on the side who set this whole thing up to get the forests trimmed back. Those removed, their holdings suddenly have a great view of sunsets, the final selling point necessary to begin a timeshare community there, just a stone’s throw away from the new king’s home.

-In Act I, Scene III, when the title fucking character finally shows up, Macbeth and Banquo enter, Macbeth says, “So foul and fair a day I have not seen, it’s too much to bear, so I guess I’ll drink this battery acid.” He then chugs a bucket full of noxious chemicals, collapses, and attendants show the audience to their cars.

Bathroom Monologue: The Thirteenth Floor

Those floors are there. They were purchased in bulk by a misanthropic entrepreneur in 1834, who foresaw a time of high rises. Having to cross the country so often that he never knew what building he’d stay at, he gave a massive loan to the Federal Treasury and related companies, in return for an exclusive opportunity to purchase the thirteenth floor of every building that would ever be built. Loathing his fellow man, he made certain all elevators would skip his floor so that no children would come by to touch his rare art, or in the mid-20th century, his arcade machines. Whenever an arcade goes out of business, he buys every machine and has them shipped to one of his thousands of private floors. The quarter slots are ripped out to be played in his lonely and unlucky rooms, only occasionally heard by people on their way up to 14.

10,000 Hits!

This week I reached 10,000 hits on the Bathroom Monologues. The counter was established a long time after the site opened, but it's still a cool milestone.



Thanks to all the visitors! I hope I've made it worth your while.

Also, don't forget the R.A.Q.!

Bathroom Monologue: Breaking Reel Ground

“I’m an innovative director. I break new ground. You know those dark, melancholy comedies that are too preoccupied to be funny? Well I make action movies too intense for fight scenes, and romances too deep to have relationships. I was going to do a bio-pic too real to be factually accurate, but someone beat me to it, and now the market is glutted with them. Take my word for it – in twenty years it will be avant garde to do what your audience expects you to do.”

Bathroom Monologue: Lance Armstrong, first man on the moon?

Yes, Lance Armstrong was the first man on the moon. He rode his Apollo Schwinn up a moon beam, something that was not thought possible previously, but only French cyclists and astronauts and tried it before. While beloved in America for this achievement, he is loathed in the French quarter of the Lake of Tranquility. Tragedy nearly struck on his return journey as he came down with cancer of the appendix, which is why all astronauts have to have that removed now. He inspired us to continue visiting space with his famous phrase, “It’s one small step for man, but you never forget how.”

Bathroom Monologue: With that Fish

"Terrifying incident today as both the Jesus Fish and the Darwin Fish were eaten by the Ursa Minor constellation. Onlookers said it was a case of annoying symbolism gone too far. Hindus upgrade to the Gandhi Whale for safety purposes."

R.A.Q. 2

It's that time of year when I have the excuse to ask,

"Have you seen my rack?"

It's actually "RAQ." I pronounce it that way because people make amusing faces.

Rarely Asked Questions is my birthday tradition at the Bathroom Monologues. Until September 2nd, I'm requesting all readers leave questions they dont normally ask anyone. Particle physics? 17th century politics? Why your mom snores? Why I write so many things about the end of the world? What your questions are, and whether they have anything to do with me, is up to you. I'll compile them and answer them all on September 4th - my birthday. That's how I celebrate. With my big RAQ.

Please leave your mysteries and queries in the Comments section of this post.

Bathroom Monologue: The Fox’s Dilemma

"I just heard of a famous essay about how everyone is either a hedgehog or a fox. It turned out the hedgehog is the creature with one all-consuming idea, while the fox has many little ideas. It was disappointing, as I thought hedgehogs were those folk whose needles drive everyone away, and foxes were those who sought out people every day to kill and eat. I longed to read this academic argument that the world consisted of shut-ins and serial killers. I longed for a theatrical adaptation, or better, a sports adaptation where each would wear team jerseys. You know, for the Foxes and the Hedgehogs. At the Superbowl of misanthropy, those who want everyone to go away and those who want everyone to die would line up and compete for yardage. A Buddhist monk emerges from his cave after seven weeks of meditation, and is promptly tackled by Fox linebacker Ed Gein. Though I guess hermits would really be more of a AA-league where you went to train for the Hedgehogs’ starting roster. If only that essay had been by a sports fan."

Bathroom Monologue: “What's your gay fantasy?” –Somebody on the TV as I was walking out of the room

I sit back on my vibrating chair.

Eventually a guy comes in and hands me a Coke. Is he gay? I don’t know. He doesn’t say, and this fantasy society is so ambivalent about it that neither of us know the ticks or “tells” that would suggest an answer. Being my fantasy, regardless of whether or not he is gay, he leaves. That’s the duration of his existence in the fantasy, beyond possibly leaving some flattering comments about those Bathroom Monologues I wasn’t sure were good. He’s a great guy.

I set the vibrating chair up to MEDIUM and sip the Coke. The kinkiest details of the fantasy have to do with a short glass of shaved ice and the beverage never losing its carbonation.

Eventually a couple of centerfold-worthy lesbians wander in and make out in front of me for a while. Because even my fantasies are a little rational, I get bored a couple of minutes in and send them away. I tip well. They did it for free, and so there is some humor to do with the tip. My fantasies tend to have jokes in them.

On the way out, the pink-haired one asks what my straight fantasy is like.

I sip the Coke and reply, “Pretty similar to this, honestly."