Public Post To The Man Who Cannot Aim His Pee

Angry message to the man who doesn’t / can’t or just wont lift the seat and then peed all over it.

I know who you are.

I saw you walking away quickly from the scene of the crime.

Don’t tell me you were walking that fast because you had an “important meeting”.

I KNOW a hit and run when I see one.

I’ve had the misfortune of walking into a loo just after you’ve done your filthy little business,

I’M LODGING A COMPLAINT YOU FUCK!!

The history of the Loo I did ages and ages ago for a magazine in Bombay. I never got the final print so I don't have the copy. Boo hiss.

The history of the Loo I did ages and ages ago for a magazine in Bombay. I never got the final print so I don’t have the copy that should be inserted in-between the piping. Boo hiss.

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9 thoughts on “Public Post To The Man Who Cannot Aim His Pee

  1. I swear! You are the bright spot in my week. It’s like I forget I have subscribed to you and then your weekly posts pop up in my inbox and the world if whimsical and funny again. The Sigh.

  2. Good god, unisex toilets! why should you be surprised?

    The penis, we can aim. The urethra has a mind of its own.

    Try pissing after you’ve jizzed. That stream comes out in six different channels.

    • ick. This is exactly what I said the the guy I angrily complained to.
      He said there was no way to stop men using a certain loo.
      But he gave me access to better loos on another floor and said they’d be having a cleaner twice a day as they also had other people complain.
      Men are fucking disgusting. Even if they can’t pee straight can they not wipe after themselves?

      • I went through a phase, when I was in grad school and hated my apartment, of only pooping at the university library “loos”.

        Fun times. First I’d suds up paper towels with the antibacterial hand soap (after sudsing down the soap dispenser and throwing away the first towel out of its dispenser, natch), and wash the toilet seat with those. I’d handsuds the faucets too, of course.

        Crap.

        Flush. Often two flushes required, because I was going through big postmeal turds then. How embarassing. The flushes reechoing through the whole library floor.

        I used the hand paper towels to wipe down, too. I don’t want to touch toilet paper, and anyway the stuff’s too flimsy *and* too ungentle for my bum.

        Flush. (I tried to use only half-strips of paper towel at a time).

        Wash wash wash my hands.

        Wet a paper towel, use it to open the door. Hold door open with my foot, aim wet paper towel for the trash. If it misses, it misses.

        Allow door to hit my foot an inch short of closing, then gently remove foot so door *softly* comes to a close.

        Return to browse the essays of Woodrow Wilson.

        Those poor girls must’ve thought I was a terrible perv. It’s a girls school, after all.

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