The World is My Urinal
Mark Leyner, Et tu Babe
When your bladder is calling the shots you are the co-pilot of the sack of fluids that is your body. (As I jot down these thoughts I have a creeping suspicion that one of the comedians was talking about this during the recent Melbourne Comedy Festival. I apologise for any plagiarism herein but I saw not one of the shows and besides it's a topic that stretches back to early civilisations and get off my back and oh-yeah?-your-horse-ugly. So there.) The pressure builds in the lower "rude bits" of your body and no matter if you spend your life donating to charity and doing other Good Samaritan-y things you WILL push old ladies into oncoming traffic, destroy life long relationships, kill relatives, etc. for that sweet sweet release. All other commitments evaporate from your alcohol-decayed mind as you hunt down for someplace to whizz. However, once finished, you revert back to your normal, neurotic self and apologise to the horrified onlookers/ relatives/ ambulance guys of that tragic 'pushing old lady into the traffic'-thing.
It takes a very special kind of prick to not acknowledge the lend of the facilities of a bar. (Yes, this is a long winded gripe about 'idiot customers' and will affect most of you not one bit.) Like Mr.Personality who slithered wordlessly into the Amethyst and tried to walk wordlessly out.
Me:(shouts) You're welcome!
D-ckhead: (turns around) Excuse me?
Me: I said "You're welcome). You used the toilet without saying anything.
Me: It's polite to ask.
D-ckhead: You actually expect me to ask you permission to use your toilet?
Me: Yup. It's called courtesy.
And so on and so forth. The scenario ended in a lot of shouting and hand gestures and this angry bastard making monkey gestures (Honest Injun!) before he left.