For a Good Time, Call

Public-restroom literature

Oh, sure, you think you don't care, but don't you see? Bathroom graffiti is our history. It's our connection to the past. How else are we to know what some drunk idiot was thinking on Tuesday? By asking him? Bah! Feh! If only it were that easy! You think you can unlock such mysteries of the universe as "see pussy?" or "deez nuts" just by asking? I think not, my friend. You think you can grasp, really feel the way "Crazy Girl, Naughty Girl & Funny Girl were here and we rock!" by just hearing it? Maybe for a little while you'll get it. You'll see pussy and you'll feel it and you'll know deep inside you what they were talking about, and maybe you'll fully grasp the enormity of "deez nuts" or the pure rockingness of that nutty trio affectionately referred to as Crazy Girl, Naughty Girl & Funny Girl. But soon enough you'll go back to your boring corporate existence just like all the rest. And we don't blame you. No—hey, if you can't handle it, that's fine. Few can.

But someday . . .

Someday you'll be out there, and maybe you'll have had a few too many liquids, and you'll really need to pee, perhaps like a racehorse, perhaps like a duck, and you'll go into the bathroom and see the walls, and it'll all come rushing back. I just hope you're ready.

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