Communism and Toilets

I went downtown with some friends tonight, mainly to celebrate one of them visiting home from his job in South Korea. It was a lovely time, even though I'm not a drinker. I even saw someone get arrested at the bar we finished the night at. Here's a question for the universe: WHY would someone mouth off to a group of six cops standing next to an empty paddy wagon? That's just a recipe for disaster. Two cups idiocy, one pound of stupidity, two tablespoons of testosterone and a pinch of pride. And his pride certainly got pinched when they cuffed him in front of a huge crowd.

I heard "American Pie" by Don McLean twice today; once when I was getting ready for tonight's adventure, and once from Windsor's official Singing Idiot at the bar. This, coupled with the fact that I was in the presence of Yuri (my dear friend from Belarus, with whom I made a Guitar Hero band called The Commies) inspired me to come up with my own lyrics to the song. Incidentally, I'd recently re-read my old research notes about Arthur Miller and was thinking about that shameful incident with HUAC in the 1950s. Let's see if I can remember...

Bye bye un-American guy.
He was famous now he's shamed us
As a communist spy.
He sold his soul for Marxist-Leninist lies,
Singing 'Capitalism must die!'

And now for something completely different.

In Windsor, it is known far and wide by bar-going women alike that the bathrooms at Big Dick's are by far the most disgusting. Here is what the stairs to the basement (where the facilities are located) looks like:


Should I mention that this photo is an original, copyright Lindsay Sheppard 2008? The caption is compliments of Photoshop CS3. Back to the point.

We ended up at the Treehouse by the end of the night (which is where we saw Captain Moron get arrested and hauled away). I'd never been there before. By then I'd been drinking glass after glass of water while everyone else was plastered. Miss Stephanie and I decided to go to the bathroom.

We opened the door and squished three girls up against the sink which was just opposite the door with only a foot or two of clearance space. On the left, there were three toilet stalls. Toilet #1: full to the brim of grey toilet paper. EW. Toilet #2: Tank running, toilet paper clogging it, and water all over the floor. Toilet #3: Exact replica of toilet one. Needless to say, none of them were usable. So we walked out, made a sharp right, and walked into the men's room. I think the one guy with his package in his hand at the urinal was a little surprised. I had to hold my nose because the smell of acidic urine made my stomach churn, and I was sober! The guy in the ONLY stall stuck his head around the corner (conveniently there was no door on the stall) and offered to flush the toilet so we could use it. That seems logical. But Stephanie couldn't wait, so she dropped trow right there and squatted over the urinal while three awestruck, drunken men stared at her vag. I tried my best to hide her, but without luck. Then she was kind enough to stand in the doorway of the stall while I attempted to hover over the toilet. I realized my hovering technique needs practice when I felt wetness on my bottom... I had accidentally touched the toilet seat. WHY can't men aim properly?! It can't be THAT difficult. Seriously. After I was finished, we walked out of the men's room while being stared at by half a dozen impressed men, right into a bouncer. He didn't say a word to us. It's a good thing he didn't, because I was in just the mood for telling someone off about the illegal-ness of not having working toilets in an establishment that serves ingestibles.

Bottom line, aside from a ring of urine ON my bottom, is that I'm going to have to exfoliate my ass for the next month.