Okay, so you know how when dogs wag their tails vigorously, their butts sometimes go side to side a little too? Okay, fine. So anyway, I was standing at the bottom of the stairs and I looked up, and our dog was at the top smiling down with his dumb doggy happy face. He’s part wolfhound, but smaller, so he’s like a shaggy greyhound.
With those long legs, from the bottom of the stairs I got a good view of his under-carriage. So I couldn’t help but notice…
When his tail wags, his junk swings in opposition. Tail goes left, dog wang swings right. Tail wags vigorously, dog wang does same.
What the hell? I can’t stop noticing this now! I keep seeing waggy wang! Waggy wang, waggy wang - all the time! I don’t need to see that.
Years ago, a roommate generously gave me a calendar from where he worked. Apparently they were free for employees or something.
His employer, for what it’s worth, was Dunkin’ Donuts.
Anyway, the calendar was beautiful. January was a couple hiking through snowy woods. July was a father and son fishing in a beautiful mountain lake. November was a family walking through golden trees. Every picture was a work of art. Every one celebrated the awesome majesty of nature. It was breathtaking.
A friend pointed out that in every single picture, someone in it had some sort of food product. January was a couple hiking through snowy woods drinking coffee. July was a father and son fishing in a beautiful mountain lake, a bag of donuts sitting next to them on the dock. November was a family walking through golden trees, sharing croissants from a bag.
From that point on, all I could see in every photo was that horrible orange and red logo.
I had never noticed what people do with their metro cards when they aren’t using them (metro cards are our transit cards that grant us access to the subway in NYC) until one day on the train when I saw the worst thing a person can see ever. There was an older woman sitting with a man I assume to be her husband. He had a huge open wound up and down the entire lower half of his leg that obviously needed treatment but hadn’t been looked at by a doctor. She was using her metro card to* dig decaying material out of the wound on his leg and fling it around the subway car*. :eek::eek::eek::eek: The whole time I saw this happening I was holding my breath and thinking, “and next time they get on the train they are going to swipe that card through the same card reader that I do and I am going to have that man’s decaying wound germs on my card!”
Now when I see people using their metro card as a bookmark, toothpick, or other non-standard use of the card I notice immediately. Then I purell my hands just remembering that horrible scene.
I’ve mentioned this here before, but the classic example of this for me was in the toilet stalls of a building in Winston-Salem, NC. Along the horizontal surface of the top of the toilet paper dispensers were attached little devices designed to allow you to set down your cigarette and then pick it back up and resume smoking it. Less than two feet from the toilet. Of a relatively public restroom.
“Eeks” don’t even begin to cover that. Nope. Not even close.
It does remind me though, that in some thread here on the Dope, there was some discussion about post-potty hand washing. I can’t remember the thread or who made the post, but someone mentioned that it chaps his/her hide when people don’t use soap. The expression he/she used was “moistened poo hands”. I can not wash my hands in the men’s room without thinking the phrase “moistened poo hands.”
Ookay… on a less disgusting tack. In the Ozzy song “Crazy Train” there is the line “I know that things are going wrong for me.” If you listen to it normally you can hear the lyrics as written. Unfortunately once you know that it actually says this…
Umm…guess I don’t see what’s so weird about this. But I grew up in Kentucky, and we had smoking sections at our high school. And any decent arcade had the same type of ashtray screwed into the sides of the games.
While we were at a familiy function a few years ago, my wife, for some damned reason, pointed out to me that my 16-year-old niece “sure has big boobs, doesn’t she?” You can imagine my reaction; it was like someone telling me not to think of a pink unicorn. She’s of legal age now, but I still feel somewhat pervertish that whenever I see my niece, I have to consciously keep my eyes to a decorous level.
