Sure, we all have to get rid of this crap from our bodies, but do you really need to mark your territory on the stairwell or sidewalk?
Urine Control
Please. PLEASE. Our noses are no longer capable of detecting territorial pheromones. Please pee in the toilet. Remember: "if you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie - wipe the seat-y."
Corny encounter
Need I say more?
Yes.
I was most alarmed, at first glance, to think that someone flushed a baby with skin disease, and his arm was hanging upward and outward, shouting, "Help!"
I understand not wanting to get close to it; why not use the one-legged foot-flushing method?
Or a pole.
Or a braver friend.
Slicker in the front; Poker in the ear
I've been mullet hunting. It's scary. It's scary to think what people will do to avoid putting sunblock on their necks. You are sure to win any bet if you visit the biggest truckstop on I-80. Guaranteed mullet-ville.
Respect My Metrosexual Transit Authority
Only a person of true tolerance can handle riding a bus in the first place. That said, the array of parts that should be covered by a bathing suit (jammed at eye level) abound in size and general variety. Adjectives such as sour, crusty, fermented, hairy, pendulous, and just-plain-wrong come to mind. The grossest offenses are lovingly encased in spandex. Combine these with screeching voices that cause dogs and cats to hide, and you have an overall example of who shares my commute with me.
Give me a veiny dick in the face over the rantings of a Scientologist any day. There are worse things in life.
Generosity Killed the Cat
In Los Angeles, engaging a stranger in friendly conversation can be hazardous to your health. Buy somebody a one-dollar sundae; six months later, he or she wants to move in with you. They let you know by calling every half-hour and not leaving a message. These strangers do not get subtle hints. Or even gunshots.
This is why I live with attack dogs.
Moth-schwitz? That's Insecticide!
Your pretty blue light hangs on your back patio, murdering bug after bug. Look, neighbours: if you were actually outside actually enjoying your backyard I would understand. But the truth is, you never go out there. I sit on my patio and have to listen to the Moth-crackler Suite. Meting out the punishment that you would reserve for a serial killer seems a bit harsh for such a harmless creature. Flying outside. On your vacant patio. Plus, I would equate the smell to burning hair. Yummy, protein smoke!!!! Ewww.
