Everyone's Got a Poopinion!

I haven’t had a lot going on in my life recently so I’ve been very bored very often. Afraid that my boredom would soon lead to insanity, I enthusiastically asked Ramon, my imaginary friend, if he wanted to play a game of ‘Checkers’. He enthusiastically punched me in the gut and called me a “Fag.”

‘Hey,’ I sternly warned him, ‘You call me that 5 or 6 more times and I might go and talk to somebody who’s not a figment of my imagination.’
Now as anybody who has even remotely studied the subject can tell you, once a fictional character becomes conscious of their imaginary existence, they immediately cease to exist, exploding in a beautiful mess of imaginary color and gore. It was immediately following this that I found myself sitting pants-less on the park bench, alone and bored. I packed up my satchel, put away my magical beans and tiara, and went to find a friend to talk to.

After a brief negotiation, 22 dollars, and a street vendor hot dog, my new ‘friend’ agreed to grant me 7 minutes of conversation. He told me of how, just the other day, he found himself in the ‘Museum’ subway station where he found a poster promoting the new renovations about to be undertaken at that very station. The government, apparently, plans to put mummies, and dinosaurs (hopefully just bones), and artifacts there turning the Museum station into an actual museum!!! At the top of the poster was a brief tagline which read "What's Going on Here?" to which some hilarious individual graffitied, ‘A misallocation of public funds.’

While I find this a funny social statement, some patriotic passerby felt so outraged by this blatant act of Treason that he pulled out his sharpie, which he conveniently keeps in his wallet, and responded with the simple yet meaningful, ‘Have pride in your city.’

Now don’t get me wrong, I think a subway poster is an appropriate location for debate. A much better forum than, let’s say, an actual forum. In fact I think we should change the electoral system by replacing televised debates with candidates taking turns writing their opinions on subway advertisements for museum renovations and gay dating websites. I mean, moderators and civil conduct? What are we? Animals?

Now I know it’s a tired subject that we’ve all wondered aloud to ourselves and, if you’re not me, others, but the phenomenon of inappropriately located opinionated debate is beginning to get out of hand. For example, when I go to the bathroom in a public place there are some messages that I’m willing to accept. If you’re trying to tell the world that there’s no toilet paper left, then I think it’s your right, nay, you’re responsibility to wipe your feces on the wall, and if you’re tall enough, the ceiling. If you wanna hand me a paper towel and ask me for a tip, it’s your right to express your opinion; you’re an asshole, I get it. But when I sit down to unload my fecal demons, the last thing I need to be informed of is that ‘Michael Jackson hates Kykes.’ I mean, whoever’s theory this is clearly found it so important that he took the time to scribble it on the wall of the stall, yet he has left no further facts supporting his argument nor his contact information had I wished to learn more on the subject. If it’s true than I’m pretty mad at MJ, but as it stands I gotta chalk this one up to pure speculation. Ruined my poo, too.

I’ve never understood why angry opinionated people bring pens into the bathroom with them. It’s like there’s some sort of underground therapeutic methodology that I’m just not keen too. I can even accept this being their opportune moment to express themselves, I know when I’m pooping my brain kicks it into high gear, but why is everyone always so angry. There are always offensive statements like, ‘Nuke Africa,’ or ‘I have aids and I rubbed my blood all over that toilet seat.’ I’m not an angry pooer; I would assume I’m not the only one. Yet I have never seen an amiable or even sedate comment in a bathroom stall. Just once I wanna swing the door shut and see, written in faint grey letters, ‘I’m feeling pretty good, I guess,’ or ‘Danny DeVito is an alright actor!’

The only thing that bothers me more than angry rants is generic mean spirited statements like, ‘You Suck.’ It’s like, if you’re gonna take the time to carve your viewpoints into this slab of wood, than make it count man. You don’t even know me.

I’ve always wondered if this phenomenon is strictly isolated to men, or if women do it, too. It would probably be different; women are too in touch with their feelings to leave such rudimentary carvings. They’re probably much more civil, like ‘Black people are generally darker in complexion than caucasions.’ Underneath which an African American would rebut. ‘As a light skinned woman of color, I resent that assumption’ ‘Oh yeah!?!’ the original poster would threaten, ‘well I apologize!,’ and with that the white woman, now finished clogging her bleeding vagina, would leave the stall, defeated, never to return. Underneath that somebody probably carved the recipe for nice bunt cake.

I guess what really set off this insightful tirade was an unsettling comment I read the other day. I sat down to do my business, and as if they had timed my arrival to the second, written in large block letters across from my face were the words ‘I fucked your mom.’ Now this type of bold statement would upset nearly any man, but this situation hurt doubly so because I could feel, deep down in my loins, that it was the truth. That being said, I’d like to take this opportunity to ask my dad to please not write on the walls of our house anymore.

So why does all class and respect go out the window as soon as our asses touch those porcelain bowls of honest expression? Is it a deep rooted desire to return to our roots, writing hieroglyphics on blank walls, leaving our mark for the future? Do we feel this a safe anonymous venue for expression, without having to worry about the consequences? Has the public bathroom stall become the new confessional? Or are we all, deep down in the core of our very being, simply assholes? I don’t think it matters, really. Human beings need somewhere to truly express themselves. If we can get things off our shoulders and out of our bowels simultaneously, then who cares why we choose the formats we choose? Besides, there’s no need to speculate.

The writings right up on the wall.