Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Target Practice

I was standing at the urinal in the bathroom at the San Francisco Soup Company, taking time out for a bio-break before I rushed to catch the train when I had the following thought:

Who was the genius that came up with the idea to not only put an icy mint in the this wall-mounted vertical toilet, but that it would be a big hit if there were a mock filter placed over said mint and water that looked like a dart board?

Complete with bullseye and numbers around the circle and lines in all of the appropriate places, this was a bona fide dart board. No, this wasn't the first time I had ever seen one of these, but it did make me laugh out loud. Ladies, you probably don't know what I'm talking about, or that there was such a thing. The fellas are probably going to see to it that there are some consequences and repercussions for me speaking on these un-speakables. I told you. I observe. I am easily amused, and I can write a little bit. Some crazy things are bound to be said, and you know that I'm the Master of Minutae, the Tsunami of Soliloquys, and the Premier of Procrastination. You may call me His Royal Randomness.

Does this prove once and for all that we, as men, are very simple creatures? Are we this easily amused? (Well, we know I am, but...). Is everything a game for us? I can just imagine that there is some cat that came out of the men's room, arms over his head proclaiming his piss darts supremacy, telling all others to step off. "You betta axe somebody!" Or even worse, two cats in adjacent stalls competing. Okay, this is getting carried away. Sleep deprivation and hunger pains are not a good combination. So, again, I ask you: who was that genius?

He's probably a rich man now, just like the guy that came up with the java jacket (you know, the stupid piece of corrugated cardboard that makes sure you don't burn your hand as you drink your soy latte at Starbucks). He's probably cruising around in a 35-foot Bertram in Maui, fishing for Marlin's, and topping his day off by sipping some 18-year old, McCallan single-malt scotch. Brilliant.

Okay, I'm done. Another day above ground is a good day that I've lived to tell about. Life is good. Can you dig it?

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