Public toilets. They are just weird. Sitting in a little stall; doing your business next to some other dude doing his business; the mingling of odors; when the guy in the stall next to you is a grunter. That's the worst. It was cute to make noises while you shat when you were a few months old, but NOT WHEN YOU ARE 56! Totally destroys any hope of a boner. Or when the grunter spends as much time wiping as he did pooping. I HATE THAT. It just makes me clench longer.
People. Weird with a capital 'W' and lowercase '-eird.' I mean, you never know what they're thinking, unless they say it out loud, and 99% of that is lies anyway. This is one of the main reasons that I speak as few words as possible, and those words are lies, each and every one of them. Example: People say "How is your day going, Vanderbilt?" I say, "Fine." I'm not going to let people pull one over on me.
Madison Sinclair. Seems he's given up posting and has become a professional commenter. Nothing wrong with that, but you might want to change your name to ROGER EBERT. THE FILM CRITIC. BECAUSE HE COMMENTS ON THINGS FOR A LIVING.
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Public toilets. Being the lady that I am, I refrain from making any bowel movements in public. You see, I amuse myself by documenting the size, texture and odor of my stool. What I do with my excrement is my business and my business only. Except now, I've shared it with the BFN audience and writers.
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