Then Lizard cast his eyes to Heaven, and spake.
“Yea, LORD, thine succor I must plead, for I am sore afflicted. Long have I sat, long have I marvelled, on the bathroom habits of the men in your land. From the time I was a babe did I always mind my manners, and strive to do as mine mother taught me. Namely, to flush the receptacle of my own foul issue, the offending substance to be taken away from mine eyes, its sour odor drawn from this world to another, more distant place.
But now, oh LORD, the land of my stepfather is beset by heathens, who care nothing for the teachings of Ann Landers. They care naught for edicts, requests, nor any other form of utterance that would make demand they do as I was taught, and dispose of their liquid grotesqueness to another place.
For these men are filled with thoughts totally unmannered, thinking all of life is like halftime of an Ohio State football game in Ohio Stadium, or their County Fair, where they line themselves into a phalanx of urinators, leaving their issuance in a trough designed without thought for the niceties of flushing.
For, were all such public stalls and other places of elimination designed thusly, thou knowest, Oh LORD, that your humble servant would stay his tongue, and join the rabble of the common, eliminating in their company. But LORD, you know it to be untrue.
For day after day you guide your servant’s feet to places where men relieve themselves on a whim, and then, for reasons only known to thineself, refuse to do that which would spare all other men the sight and odor of their piss. That deed, the flushing of the urinal, is sadly forgotten among such men, and for what reason?
And mine own eyes have shown me that it is not only the unwashed, the working classes, nor the homeless who behave thusly; yea, even those wearing suits of Armani have been known to behave such. And for what reason?
Now, oh LORD, your servant asks for thine Divine Judgement on such negligent pissers. Let their zippers bind, let their aim go astray, to splatter their garments with their own yellow effluvence. Let them learn, through constant exposure, the disgust at their own filth that I, your servant, has felt all the days of my life.”
Sorry, I was raised in Corinth.
Goddamit! He hath stolen mine own thunder!
Smite him with a good leg whiz.
And let he who hath of recent times partaken of asparagus, and yet still refuseth to flush, be doubly smote.
But if I should flushest mine urinal, I would wastest great water, for mine own waste fluid falls mostly upon the floor itself, as mine greatest amusment lies in the act of releasing the magenta serpent from a distance of three forelegs from the porcelin chalice, striving for a majestic trajectory in reminicent of the dreams and trials of Icarus, defiler of the represive shackles of physical nature, much as I myself strive against powerful constraints of polite decorum manifested in the pervasive illusionary demon called ‘Hygiene’ by the cowering masses.
Just kidding, I hate those people too.