This morning, privately, I confronted Mr. Fuckwicket. As nicely as possible. Apparently he does use, perhaps overuse, laxatives. He feels that if his digestive tract has anything in it he’ll immediately begin to get fat, and he can’t stand fat. So he shits like the exhaust of a jet engine. No Crohn’s nor other physical illness.
He hates it when the water from the toilet splashes up on him so he sits way forward on the seat and leans over so he doesn’t get splashed. Hence, the spray all over the crapper, and everything else.
Astounded, and a little disgusted, that he would confide this much information to me, I suggested he look around after he’s done and try to clean up after himself, then other people started showing up at work and I went back to my cube. Thinking, I’m sick because I’m overeight. Yeah, right.
And Green Bean-I’ve always likened myself more to Burroughs than Ginsburg. (hehe!!)
b.