Look pal, I’m just trying to take a dump in here

September 4, 2007

Tina the Lesbian was just finishing mowing her lawn when Sean and Lucia Wheatley came charging up the sidewalk to her house. Tina wished at that moment she had a hedge trimmer or at least a weedwhacker in her hands, something she could swing around to get rid of them.

“Is there no place we can be safe from gay sex?” Sean says accusingly to Tina.

“What did the gay community do to threaten your marriage this time?” Tina said with a tired sigh.

“We’ve been following the sordid story about Senator Larry Craig and his getting arrested in that men’s room in Minnesota,” says Lucia. “It’s got Sean so scared he won’t go into any public restroom at all.”

“Look, I’m not a guy but I think it’s pretty easy not to have gay sex in a men’s room,” Tina says.

“We didn’t know about the signals,” says Sean. “The bag blocking the front of the stall, the foot-tapping, the moving your foot closer to their foot thing, the running the hand under the stall… but what other signals are there? How can I be sure I’m not secretly telling anyone I want to have a sleazy and casual homosexual encounter?”

That’s when Tina slips her hand into her pants pocket, calls me up on speed-dial, and presses the “2” key three times. That’s our secret code for “The Wheatleys are over here being fucking retarded, please come help me.”

So I show up and Sean’s looking all pale and sweaty and I ask him what’s wrong?

“I have an awful bladder infection because I can’t use the men’s room at work,” Sean says.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Because he doesn’t want to accidentally have gay sex, that’s why?” says Lucia. “He could accidentally give the wrong signals to someone and then all of a sudden he’s either getting handcuffed by the police or banged in the ass.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “The signals are very broad, and there’s a specific pattern to them to make sure no one does them by accident.”

“How do you know what that there’s a pattern?” Sean asks. “You’re not one of them, are you?”

“He’s not gay, the Gay tricorder had negative readings of homoton emissions,” says Tina the Lesbian, obviously sick of the Wheatleys’ bullshit and now in full “fucking with them” mode.

“Because closeted gays are like spies, they do things in very clandestine ways,” I say. “Now you might do one signal by accident, you might even do two by accident, but there’s no way you’re doing all three by accident.”

“Maybe you’re willing to take that risk, but I’m not,” says Sean.

“Look, just follow the heterosexual male bathroom code and you’ll be fine,” I say. “Just stand or sit straight, keep your eyes focused forward, keep your hands near your person, and don’t talk to anyone. The bathroom is holy ground. It is a place to reflect, not to strike up conversations, because man is at his weakest and most vulnerable when he is busy expelling waste from his bodily orifices.”

“Well, I guess that’s the safest plan I can hope for,” Sean says.

“And remember, you’re born gay,” I say. “It’s not a choice. I don’t care what that jackass Bill Richardson says. So show some damn confidence in your heterosexual manhood and stop pissing yourself every time something gay comes within 100 yards of you.”

That satisfied the Wheatleys and they went home.

“So what do I owe you this time?” Tina says.

“Just bring that lawnmower over to my place and give it all a good once over,” I say.

It’s a shame that “mowing the lawn” doesn’t have any cunnilingus overtones, otherwise I’d have a killer line to end this post with. Perhaps I should have boxes ready to be munched in preparation for next time.

One comment

  1. I’m thinking ‘Brazilian’

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