Thursday, October 22, 2015

A Clown-Free World

If there is one thing in life I would never want to be it’s a clown. And a nun, but that is a totally different story. (Or is it?)

I don’t like clowns. I don’t like their oversized clothes. I don’t like their color choices. I don’t like their fake face make-up. I don’t like their floppy shoes. I don’t like their failed attempt at being funny. 

I’m certain I’m not alone with these sentiments. 

I think clowns are sad creatures desperately in need of attention. Hey, wait a second… am I describing a Kardashian? (Now that’s funny!)

Has anyone ever laughed with a clown? At a clown?  Every time I see clips of circus audiences all I see is the forced laughter masquerading the fear and the dislike of clowns. 

As a child, I remember watching Bozo on television and thinking, “What the hell is this creature supposed to be?” The only reason I didn’t change the channel was that I was too damn lazy to get off the couch - yes, I was a husky kid -  and manually turn the channel. (In those days there was no TV remote.)

Some people like to live in a meat-free, gluten-free, and gmo-free world. I prefer to live in a clown-free world.

You can only imagine my horror when watching one of my favorite sitcoms, Modern Family, and discovering Cam has/had aspirations to be a clown.  Luckily, we’re in the modern age of TV remotes so I didn’t have to drag my fat ass off the couch and I quickly changed the channel. My admiration for Cam faltered, and I began to secretly hope Mitchel would divorce him for a clown-less man. 

Some people might think I’m being a bit harsh, but to those people I say, “What makes you think clowns are funny?” 

Maybe I have this dislike for clowns because my second grade teacher - Ms. Crabtree - accused me of being a class clown. I hated Ms. Crabtree, so maybe I equate clowns with her, that haughty mean spirited unfunny overbearing know-it-all bitch. Whatever, the way I feel about clowns is the way I feel and I don’t foresee that feeling changing in this lifetime. 

One thing for certain, you won’t be seeing me at a Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey show anytime soon. 

Now let’s talk about nuns… 

Sunday, October 11, 2015

The Non-Flushers

Today’s rant is all about the men in my office who go to the office mens room and #1 and #2 and never flush when they’re done. What gives?

I am so tired of going into the bathroom and seeing un-flushed urinals, and yes, un-flushed toilets too. This has been happening a lot lately and it has to stop. I don’t want to look in the urinal and know the man before me took too many vitamins, needs to take vitamins, or ate too much asparagus for lunch. 

As for the un-flushed toilets, if they’re afraid to put their hand on the flusher then they need to lift their leg and use their shoe to press the handle. It’s surprising what happens… Flush!  #1 and #2 disappear! 

This begs the questions, “Who raised these men to be Non-Flushers?” Did they grow up leaving their  #1 and #2 un-flushed in their house for their mothers or fathers to see, and flush for them? 

I am totally disgusted by their behavior, and had to resort to posting “Flush Me” signs over the urinals and on the toilet doors.  These grown men (or should I say boys?) need a sign to tell them to flush, and yet they don’t heed the warning. 

Maybe they don’t understand what the word “flush” means. 

I don’t care who they think you are, but they are no better than any other man who uses the bathroom. Their piss isn’t prettier and their shit is any more attractive than anyone else’s. No one wants to see what come out of their body.

Of course I am keeping an eye to see who goes into the bathroom so I can determine who the non-flushers are, and seek revenge. I want to catch them in the act and push their noses into the urinal and into the toilet like you do a dog when they mess on the floor. “Bad Pisser! Bad Shitter!”

Don’t they hear the urinals and toilets begging, “Flush me! Flush me!” after they’re done?  

If they can’t learn to flush then they need to have their mens room privileges taken away.  

And let’s not even talk about most men’s lack of aim… 

Thank goodness I’m not the janitor.