This little Gentile decided to celebrate the Jewish New Year by foolishly going to Buffalo Joe’s for lunch. I used to have an iron stomach, but something changed in the past few months. Right now, I’m sitting here and suffering from a dizzy fit while my co-workers tap away at their keyboards like nothing happened. I’m slipping into a food coma, gentle reader! I managed to type this much by pulling myself over to my keyboard and using my tongue to hit the keys. Remember me.
You’d think a grody bathroom would have no right to be so entertaining, gentle reader, but then you’d be wrong. I walked into our dimly lit facilities yesterday, tired after a long day of work, and I immediately heard shuffling in the furthermost stall.
“I’M GOING TO FLING MY SHIT, I SWEAR TO GOD,” said an anonymous voice.
I quickly washed my hands and dashed out the door. I didn’t want to die in a two-stall bathroom just yet–I’d prefer three stalls–because I have great things to accomplish. Once I removed myself from the blast radius, as it were, I proceeded to make sense of what happened.
Since all of my co-workers were gone by then, I concluded the voice belonged to an employee from the adjacent suite. He probably thought I was one of his buddies, which prompted the misplaced comment. Then again, I never popped open the stall to verify this, so there may be other explanations. The occupant could have been a variant of the fabled Bigfoot, poised over the can and ready to cause great rejoicing by ardent evolutionists the world over. I mean, what scientist wouldn’t drool over a creature able to combine articulate conversation with pinpoint poopery?
The moral of the story? When someone makes an embarrassing comment like the one above, the chivalrous thing to do would be to walk over, extend your hand, and shake.
Poll any focus group and you’ll find, with only the slightest prompting, that we’re missing an important item in this day and age. You may think I’m talking about self-combustible macramé, gentle reader, but I’m actually referring to an asshole detector that would install on your car.
How many times have you driven on a highway, heeded warnings of a closed lane, and patiently waited in the open lane, only to watch half a dozen schmucks zoom as far up as possible to squeeze into line? Do you remember the last time you trailed a Lexus SUV while the driver, a thirty-something mom firmly attached to her cellphone, fishtailed like a roaring drunk at 20 mph? How about the last time you went for an oil change and got a $200.00 bill instead because the mechanic “mistakenly” installed another spoiler on top of your existing one? Okay, so maybe the last scenario never happened.
The fact remains that there’s a market for this device. If nothing else, it would serve as a wonderful corrective when you’re the offending driver. A few logistical setbacks keep me from producing this item in quantity, though, and they concern two things: how to detect jabronies and how to define assholivity. First of all, would this device detect the offending drivers by sight? Smell-o-vision? Pheromones? People don’t exactly wear “I’M A JACKHOLE” bandanas when they drive like headless wildebeest.
There’s also the problem of assholivity, a decidedly subjective measure. Can you imagine being pulled over for speeding after a bad day at the office?
“Son, do you know how fast you were going?” says the county sheriff, fingering his holster.
“Warning, warning, asshole detected!” beeps your detector in a heartbeat.
“Heh, I don’t know where that came from,” you quickly say. “Must be my conscience.”
“Down on the ground, NOW!” he screams as he rips you and your newfangled gadget out of your car.
There’s also another problem inherent in the device. It only detects offenders, after all, so how would you correct the offending situation? Well, since Bush forgot to extend the assault weapons ban, I guess that little problem took care of itself.