Book Excerpt 2

Posted: August 13, 2012 by Micah in Randomnicity

Her everyone,

So it’s my birthday (fanfare) and I don’t feel like posting. I also didn’t feel like writing last night as I was celebrating with my wonderful awesome wife and so (since this is my website and you don’t run it) I won’t!! However, (since this is my website and I want you to read it) here is a completely random excerpt from a book that I started writing many, many years ago well before I was the happily married typed person that I am. Anyway here are my thoughts on such captivating topics as: puberty, women’s restrooms, and men’s restroom etiquette. I will probably post something tomorrow… maybe more History of Everything stuff… though I will have no idea till I sit down to do it… yay!

(there will be no pictures to continue to give it that “book” feel and because I continue to not want to post)

SURPRISE!! okay seriously though… no more pictures…


Puberty is a boys awkward transition from a childhood in which you were afraid of things like monsters, boogeyman, and your second grade teacher Mrs. Fibbinricker. To a slightly less childlike form of childhood that we call Teenagehood in which you are afraid of girls, looking like a complete moron (which you will do), and Mrs. Fibbinricker. Puberty in essence is the hellish transitional phase from one purgatory to another. So… have fun… suckers. A lot goes on in puberty which we frankly would like very much not to think about and so will not be writing about it. We will, however, talk a little bit about the funniest part of puberty: the pustule ridden batch of macaroni salad that your face will become.

The Pustule Ridden Batch of Macaroni Salad That Your Face Will Become.

The hilarious part of puberty is it is probably the time in your life that you will care the most about your appearance. You’ll spend countless hours staring into the mirror trying to calculate the best way to nurture a relationship with a girl. You’ll spend all of your time at school trying to impress girls with the relative size of your arms and the fact that you have the biggest, widest, or loudest whatever it is that you’re talking about. You’ll spend years trying to prove that you are the biggest man on campus only to find out that most ninety nine percent of the population utterly loathes and despises you, because you are a selfish, self-serving, self-baking moron.

All the while, you will have something called acne. Acne is when the little pieces of skin that make up your face (called Epidermis) get the ever loving snot beat out of them by the tacos, chocolate, and popcorn you’ve been eating for the last 12 years of your life. This results in various volcano sized lumps appearing on your face with large signs that say “Loser” attached to them. For some reason it doesn’t matter at all that girls have them too (because they are girls) but for you and your social circle of your teddy bear and Darth Vader action figure it is the complete and utter end of the world.

Once puberty ends you discover that High School will have absolutely and entirely no actual bearing on your future because no one will “keep in touch” and most couples will “break up” about six hours into college. In fact all high schools are really good for are high school reunions which half of the people don’t attend anyway and those that do just come to lie about their careers and show off classy sports cars that they borrowed from their neighbor.

Chapter 2: Lessons from a Lavoratory

The first thing you learn when walking into a men’s bathroom is that they are the black holes of everything that is wrong with the world. If there is something that is wrong with the world (take for instance: chronic misspelling of the word “legitimate”) you will find it in a men’s bathroom. In direct relation to that women’s bathrooms are the pristine centers of fluffy Yew typed Deers and Commerce in the world. They are the Hiltons of the bathroom world, whereas men’s bathrooms are the run down hotel run by an x murder, an active serial killer, and their maid who may or may not be Adolf Castro’s mother.

The sad thing is that no man has had the courage to stand up and say “Why?” I would do it, but frankly do not care enough and would like to be left as alone as possible.

Okay, another thing women’s bathrooms have going for them is privacy. Women wall themselves in behind brick walls, with mounted aerial defense guns and armed Latverians. Men meanwhile are cast out into an open field with no trees, bushes, or grass; just mirrors and smooth white floors, and creepy holes through which NASA satellites record 24/7.

The trickiest part about men’s bathrooms is that men have a natural desire never ever to speak to each other. A lot of people think we’ve come a long way since the cave man days but as far as one of mans greatest desire (the desire never to speak to each other) we have actually taken incredible leaps backward since the invention of the whole speech thing. Bathrooms are filled with men who are intensely interested in the floor, the ceiling, the walls, the mirrors, and the sinks. As long as it doesn’t have a soul men in men’s bathrooms are utterly and entirely captivated with it. Occasionally however Mother Nature spawns someone who is (as the great humanitarian Barney would say) “different”. Or (as I would say) “a walking freak show violating everything man has stood for over the years”. He says tomato I say egg salad.

Anyway though, this “different” person is someone that decides that the public bathroom at the local Wendys is the perfect place to meet interesting and exciting new people who absolutely won’t follow him home and shiv him with a plastic spatula. This is the type of person who walks up to you in the bathroom or even takes the urinal next to you and says things like “Hey where you from?” or “How about that whether huh?” or “Hey I’m headed home to where I live alone with many sharpened spatulas.”

These people are men’s bathroom pariahs and are avoided like Cher avoids relevancy in our modern times. Men will dodge him at all costs and anytime you see some poor sucker stuck talking to said pariah you feel sort of bad for him. But only bad in a “I’m washing my hands and getting out of here” sort of way.

It’s a dog eat dog world in men’s bathrooms. It’s what makes us the stronger sex, the hardier sex, and the sex that occasionally doesn’t wash their hands in the name of escaping un-chatted with.

Surprise again!! Okay… I’m done. Go away… No really stop reading now. I’m finished. Seriously, go away. Are you still reading this? You know I’m not saying anything anymore right? Like all I’m doing is telling you to stop doing what you’re doing… grrr…

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