Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Cheese, Urinals, The President and Chili

The other day I ate so much cheese I dreamt that dairy was bad for my body. 

Imagine a team of men put in charge of designing male urinals.  Imagine them in a boardroom discussing, in complete sincerity, how to avoid a design that splashes the urine back at the body of the people relieving themselves.  Imagine the test models derived from such discussions and then imagine the day that testers come in to give feedback on the amount of urine splash-back they experienced when using each model; the filling out of sheets: the distances; the angles; the estimated pressure of urine streams on a scale of one to ten; where the splash back occurred; where they were aiming at the time.  And imagine them being asked which urinal they’d use again—which was the most ideal, practical and easy-to-use one.  Which was the most comfortable.  Imagine the testers going home to their families after this day; the board members’ ensuing discussions in the about the results, the extraneous variables that may have affected the tests.  The men go home, some to their apartments, some to their families, and brainstorm ways of improving the urinal.  They tell their friends and families about their work.  They come back the next day and either agree ona  model, or redesign.

  Now, imagine a drunk man urinating on a tree.

What kind of toilet paper does the President use when he takes a shit?  Do you think he has the time or the privacy to masturbate?  Would images of the President partaking in either of these activities be highly detrimental to his reputation? and if so, why?  Imagine when the President first inserted his fingers into a woman’s vagina.  I wonder if it was in that moment he knew he’d be President.
     I’m the man, he might have thought.  I’m the man.
     Is the President a wholesome man who’s thoroughly well-read in all of the topics he speaks about?  Is that a believable notion?  Maybe there’s a presidential handbook that covers all the things the public need to hear from the mouth of a president.  When we speak of the President, or any powerful leader, do we have any idea what we’re talking about?  To question whether we have any idea what we talk about is a bit like admitting something—isn’t it?  You mean to say my vote might be something like arbitrary?  Maybe.
     If the President had to have a second preference in an election, who would he vote for?  If he answered this question, would he be admitting that he’s not really fit to be President?
     I often imagine the President peeling an orange, getting the juice all over his hands and shoving the dripping pieces into his mouth.  Hungry Mr President, licking all the juices from his hands and wrists. Gnom gnom gnom, gobble that orange Mr President.
     You’re the man.

Unfortunately, one day, which may or may not have been today, I masturbated without thinking about the chili I’d been cutting earlier and whose juice was all over my fingers.  My willy really, really stung.
     But I kept going and eventually, well, it felt kind of nice.

Is the story…true?

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