I realize this subject has been covered, one might quite accurately say ad nauseum, before. But once more into the breach, and all that.
I walked into a women’s room yesterday and nearly vomited. I mean, yes, the smell was so intense that one breath nearly cleared both my sinuses and stomach, but what’s special about that? And the toilet-with-human-excretion on it is so standard I wouldn’t even mention it if I didn’t want to call attention to the specially talented individual who managed to get both piss and shit on the seat. So innured am I to viewing the works of the perpetually unclean that I hardly even blanched. I just made a mental note that the stall looked like some sort of modern artwork - “Commentary on Capitalism in Urine and Treadmarks” or something - and I moved on.
But what I saw in the other stall was enough to make me post on a topic I swore, swore I would never touch. I pushed open the door and stood there, literally frozen in place, for several seconds, and the resultant view completely altered my convictions about gun control AND basic human rights in the ten seconds or so it took my feet to recover enough to sprint from the bathroom.
Hint, people: a used tampon is not a paintbrush! We do not insert a wad of cotton into our vaginal canal merely so it can later become a vehicle for self-expression! The only, and I do mean only suitable use for a soiled tampon is as sewage. You pull it out, then you drop it in the toilet. How difficult is it to comprehend this? You don’t pull it out and swab it festively over the tile, toilet, and stall walls like some demented Martha Stewart on PCP! And cheerfully looping said feminine hygiene product over the toilet handle is not a signature element or anything. It’s just disgusting, that’s all.
This behavior does not mean you are a fiendishly clever artiste. It only means that you are a revolting and pathetic excuse for a human being. You will not be winning any prizes for pushing the boundaries of art by simultaneously challenging our beliefs on human waste disposal and our ability to keep down our lunch. However, you will, if there is any justice in this world at all, shortly become a part of a work entitled “Disgusting Bathroom Vandal Is Eaten By Rabid Weasels While Oppressed Janitorial Staff Throw Confetti and Monkey Shit.”
Here’s a little helpful rule of thumb for you, Ms. Bathroom Sicko: if you can’t, for fear of legal consequences, sign your full name to the “artwork,” then it probably isn’t art. Learn this. Remember this. The only other alternative is the weasels.
