Crudely speaking, such elegance and poise. One for the ages, now burnt in synaptic encompassing neuronal pathway splendour. A mystery of the universe solved in one fell whoosh, magnificent yet horrifying in such a stationary movement. That taking of one had me taking a two, in doubly disbelief public display. That dreaded eye contact. If Yours Scrotum Scratcher Truly did not have one hand on the steering wheel and the other digging deviated septum lodgings for inspection, two balled fists would have been rubbing mine eyes in ACME cartoonish situational disbelief! Was such an act a page fourteen remedied relief taken from the ol’ communist handbook, or an age old hand-me-down jewel of concealed family knowledge? One will never know. One thing is for sure, the secret is out.
Maybe not quite on par with a saving remedy that Yours Hairy Palms Truly once read a few years ago in the Readers Writes section of The Sun Magazine that my aunt and uncle were kind enough to subscribe me to, with the writer’s saving remedy being the words of wisdom that her mother had given her years before if she had ever found herself in the situation of being raped, which was: “Poop your pants.” When I read such shocking wisdom, the thought crossed my mind, even though I would never be so pathetic as to rape a woman was, “Yup that would altogether turn me off!” Then admittedly the thought did stir, “can one really poop on demand?” I hope I never have to find out, nor any of my readership either.
Come to think of it, speaking about bodily functions on demand, back in World War One on the Western Front before gas warfare was a regular occurrence and most all troops being supplied with gas masks, when Allied soldiers on the frontlines were faced with a “royal” Nazi predecessor kooky Keiser Wilhelm the Second chlorine gas attack they would pee on a handkerchief and hold it over their faces as the ammonia content would help neutralize the chlorine gas. Hmm, peeing on demand to scathe off imminent death sounds plausible, but question is, is there a fate worse than death? All of a sudden pooping on demand comes across as being not so impossible. I hope you and I never have to find out. Though something tells me, if we all stay away from “aristocracy” shindigs and “royal” get-togethers, chances of rape probably decrease by the order of seventy-five percent or so. Stay away from a “royal” in a petting zoo or barnyard location and yours and mine rape likelihood drops by a staggering ninety-two fold statistical possibility! Those poor first cousins, sheep, pigs, donkeys and rabbits. That “royal” rabbit hole is nothing like the rabbit hole you and I are familiar with. Shame on them. Romanov the Lot! And their handlers too!
Clearly a One Gloved Micael Jackson Aficionado. Get there before the Hair!
Sorry, like my septum, I annoyingly deviated. So uncomfortable at times. It is from an old hockey stick attempted murder at the hands of one of my siblings when Yours Right Between The Eyes Truly was about five years old. Many stitches to the bridge. Eyeball to eyeball! Oh right, sorry, it happened again. Now, one for the ages, burnt in synaptic encompassing neuronal pathway splendour. That number one that made me take a massive number two. Double take. That’s right, don’t you dare tell me that women can’t pee while standing up. Mine eyes, mine eyes, they seen, they seen! Nope, don’t tell me that women can’t pee standing up indeed, especially if they have their pants pulled down to their knees, while calmly leaning back all nonchalant, with their umbrella fully splayed for semi-public coverage, while waiting for a bus in the rain at a bus stop on one of the busiest streets in the city, no joke: Kingsway – it is an old indigenous trail and former wagon trail of which the “Crown” used to rape the land. It’s all downhill from there – New Westminster that is, Kingsway starts in Burnaby, right on the border with New Westminster, where it is all a shorter downhill on 12th street going the other way. Oh, how she could pee! That dreaded eye contact! She knew I knew. She had let one of the great mysteries of the universe be uncorked for public consumption. Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go!
