Tag Archives: toilet

No Toilet No Bride

13 Dec

December 13th, 2009

Who doesn’t trust The Washington Post? For journalistic integrity they are right at the top of the list. Are they? I don’t know, I never read that paper. I prefer to peruse the British press where I can catch a glimpse of a Page Three girl. But this article comes from one of my favorite American News Sources, News of the Weird (Their motto: “For journalistic integrity we are second only to the Washington Post, we think.”).

It is from the November 22nd edition, and credited to the Washington Post of November 12th. So if this was first reported in the Washington Post and then picked up by the News of the Weird, you can be sure this will be high on the agenda at the next session of the UN General Council.

An unprecedented toilet-building spree has taken hold in India over the last two years, spurred by a government campaign embraced by young women: “No Toilet, No Bride”

Now I am nothing if not a credible journalist, so I did a bit of research and found this bit of info on CNN.com, squeezed between a picture of Tucker Carlson’s bow tie and a sidebar about how highly polished Obama’s Nobel Prize is:

“No toilet, no bride,” has become a rallying cry for women raising a stink about the lack of a basic amenity. (Ha ha! Who says the news industry can’t be funny?)

They see it as a human rights issue, especially in villages where plumbing can be nonexistent.

It was that way in Sunariyan Kalan in the northern state of Haryana. Sumitra Rathi said village women had no choice but to relieve themselves without privacy. They would go before sunrise or hold it in until darkness fell once again to avoid being seen. Or they would walk out to the fields and endure embarrassment. They don’t want their daughters to face the same indignity.

“Many of them do make serious inquiries from the families of grooms about latrines,” she said.

Personally, Mr. Blog stands with his sisters on this one. “Places of poop” (as a friend once called them) are vital to the general well-being of every man woman and child. At least in my neighborhood. But I’m not sure everyone agrees with me. About five years ago, I was parked in the local Toys “R” Us parking lot waiting for someone to come out when I saw a woman and her son, who was no more than four, exit the store. I was parked very close to the exit, as it was quiet and I didn’t have to steal a handicapped spot, so I saw the whole sordid scene. The woman held the boy by the hand and marched him to the nearest lamppost where she pulled his pants and underwear down around his ankles, pointed to the pole, and yelled “pee!”

Yes this is true and yes I watched it and no I am not a pedophile.

The kid, without batting an eye, peed, and in quite an arc I must say.

I was appalled. The store they just exited had a bathroom!

So now the kid finished peeing and is standing there, full frontal nudity, in a puddle, in full view of all the perverted trash in the parking lot, and me, when the mother, who had turned her back on this, turned around and asked the kid if he was finished. He said he was. So she reached around, grabbed the kid’s gear, and gave it a few vigorous shakes to get the last drops out. Yes, she gave the kid a reach around in the parking lot.

This kid has a great future as a foster child ahead of him.

She pulled up the kid’s pants and they walked back into the store.

Did I mention there was a bathroom in the store? In fact, two. The kid could have gone himself into the men’s room or, he’s still young enough, with his mother in the ladies room.

So I wonder if that woman came from a non-toilet country, like India? Perhaps she was not yet acclimated to all the wonderful plumbing our great culture has to offer? It could be that, as yet, she was not yet used to the American way of defecation? From youth, I have been privileged to live in houses, and have relatives who live in houses, and shop in stores that have, and work in buildings with, TOILETS. They may not have always been clean or had toilet paper, and they may have looked like an elk was eviscerated in them, but they were good old American toilets and I was proud to pee in them, even in winter when, quoting my friend once again, “heated toilet seats are like a gift from the gods. I really wish that they were the norm in all places of poop.” (She is quite the philosopher. I only hope she’ll speak to me again.)

“No Toilet No Bride.” I can only hope that this wonderful slogan takes root in America.

Mr. Know-It-All: Big Box o’ Bad

11 Nov

from March 5, 2007

Wow, it has really been a while since Mr. Know-It-All has been sober enough to type. Man, my life sucks. I mean, how many times can you wake up in a puddle of assorted bodily fluids next to a hooker going through your wallet and her pimp doing blow before you decide to sober up? For me it’s 182 and counting.

Anyway, the infrequency of this rambling, and probably misnamed, “advice column” is not in fact due to my sobriety, or lack thereof, but to a specific legal precept * and the qualifying corollary.**

So we come now to Harriett Cole. I am going to exclusively use letters from her column. I love the tools who write in to her. They’re even stupider than the average Jersey girl. But not as big boobed. (Just kidding. I love Jersey broads. And big boobs.) Here’s the first letter, and it deals with an issue that Mr. Know-It-All is an expert in: urination.

Dear Harriette:

I work with five men and four women in an office with one unisex restroom. Whenever a man leaves the toilet seat up, he is made to assume some actual law has been transgressed.

I think these women need to realize the female method of urination is, at best, equal to the male method, but not superior to it. It’s as much of a nuisance for me to put the seat up as it is for some women to put it down. In fact, I rarely ever need the seat down at work, but I am forced to put it up all through the day.

I have the impression a couple of women here connect the toilet-seat issue to women’s rights. What a mockery. Women act as if they have some type of entitlement in the restroom, but unless they have broken arms, they could carry on as men have and prepare the seat to their own liking without the absurdity of complaint.

Jack, New York

 

Oh man where to start? First of all, a unisex bathroom is great! If I had one around here I could take down all of my hidden web cams in the women’s john.

Next, the old question, up or down? Well Mr. Know-It-All may buck the trend around here, but the answer is down, at all times. Let me explain. I take more depressants, anti-depressants, psychedelics, and just plain booze than the average army. I don’t know how many times I’ve stumbled to the bathroom, using my last erg of strength, bleary-eyed and strung out, and just made it to the toilet. I plopped down, only to fall into the bowl because the seat was up. If the seat was down I wouldn’t have gotten a goddam wet ass for like the bamillionth time. It’s one thing if I get blasted and wet myself, I don’t need a stupid seat left up to do it for me. But I got to tell you, nothing will wake you up like a splash of cold water on your nads. I learned that in ‘Nam. And it’s not like I need the seat up anyway. I haven’t taken a piss like a man since I came down with my fourth case of syphilis.

And what’s with these women anyway? “Women act as if they have some type of entitlement in the restroom,”  Jack writes. What the hell is that all about? Women’s rights? Get back in the kitchen and bake me a pie. And don’t even think about voting. Who do think you are, Susan B. Anthony? Get out of the bathroom and back in the kitchen. (And if my mother is reading this, I blame it all on you.)

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This next letter is written by a jerk.

DEAR HARRIETTE: In response to Sonny in New York, I saw something on TV about “women” from faraway countries asking for money. Do not send a dime! Chances are you are not even speaking to a female. The report found a man posing as a female in this type of scam. If you send the money, you will never see that person or the cash. Also, this “woman” will invent some sob story about how she couldn’t make it into the country for whatever reason but that she spent your money already, cannot get it back and needs more money. Like Harriette said, “Trust your instincts.” Run away! And fast!

Scott, New York

I can go so many ways here. I can go with the internet scam angle. I can go with the “fool and his money” angle. But I’m going with the men posing as women angle.

Let me tell you a little story. It was July 26, 2004. I was trolling around Red Hook at 4 am looking for a little friction. You’ve all done this. At 4 am you’re not getting the pick of the litter, but Mr. know-It-All spent most of the day passed out on a strange floor and this was the earliest I could find my car keys. Well, we’ve all been there. So I slowed up when I saw this [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED]  and got her in the back and we [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] until it was raw and scabby, but when I [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] it was a man! So I [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] Long story short- I paid him double and met him the next night.

And here is a part of Harriett Cole’s “response”:

I received a few letters from people who wanted me to say that Nigerians as a culture are dishonest, because the woman in question is from there. I cannot make such a statement. It is dangerous to label a whole group of people in any way. I refuse to do so.

Mr. Know-It-All has no such morals.

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Finally, another pathetic loser who can’t solve her own problems and needs someone to think for her. I shouldn’t complain- without them I’d have no column.

DEAR HARRIETTE: Like many others, I lost a dear friend when our friendship collapsed under the weight of changing life circumstances, disappointment, resentfulness, an inability to listen to each other and sometimes outright cruelty. The dissolution of our bond caught us both off guard – we were closer than sisters, and I had never imagined my life without her. I have forgiven her for the hurt she caused me and I have been working on forgiving myself for the hurt I caused her.

However, we still share a mutual circle of friends – we see each other at gatherings. I wish nothing but the best for her, and I am happy to see and speak to her at these gatherings. But now she has indicated, and I have heard from mutual friends, that she wants to be friends again. I tried at least twice to reconnect with her on a more frequent basis, but old feelings led to quick arguments and unpredictable meetings.

Does forgiving someone mean you have to trust her to be in your life again? Does my reluctance to reestablish an ongoing connection with her mean I’m being unfair and haven’t truly forgiven her? I feel guilty every day for not being able to willingly reciprocate her feelings, but I don’t feel comfortable allowing her back in my life.

Vivian, Chicago

Vivian, you need to be like me. Hate everybody! Hate hate hate! Trust me- people suck! All they do is steal your car keys in a misguided attempt to stop you from drinking and driving. All friends do is try to get you into some clinic to dry out. All friends do is refuse to let you vomit on their new carpet.

Forgiveness? Did Mr. Know-It-All forgive his father for touching him in the garage when they were working on the car when I was only eight years old? Did Mr. Know-It-All forgive his ex-wife for stealing all his money and running off with the dry-cleaner down the block? The one who you just know could have gotten the stain out of my jacket if he really tried? Did Mr. Know-It-All ever forgive Mr. Giambucci, the gym teacher, for the “jock strap incident” in junior high? I’m still not over that one!

So be happy you lost some dead-weight and get on with your stinking life.

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So let’s recap this one, ’cause it was a doozy. Urination, cold nads, anti-women’s rights, my favorite cross-dressing prostitute, Nigerians, hate hate hate, and some incidents of my life that I still have nightmares about. No wonder I drink and inject cocaine in the corners of my eyeballs.

Mr. Know-It-All often wonders what the purpose of this column is. Is it advice? Is it an abject lesson in what not to do? Who cares? It pays the bills. Or in this case it buys the cheap hookers, booze and blow.

* Sometimes you feel like a nut.

** Sometimes you don’t.