(this post is full of shizz and toilet humour. please go to a more wholesome site if just the mere thought of it sends waves of nauseating odour wafting into your nose.)


i hate using public toilets. i really do. i wld rather control my bladder or squeeze my butt cheeks together for all i'm worth till i reach home and get my rightful claim to the throne. but, as you know, when life doles out a serving of shizz, there's no escaping it. and so that was what happened to me a few days ago, all thanks to overnight curry argh. the churning started when i was on the train. i was willing for it to go away, but the unrelenting rumbling came on stronger; and so there i sat, meek as a mouse, trying to make my impending flatulence as delicate as the fluttering of fairy wings. to cut a long story short, i had to alight at an earlier stop to prevent an implosion in my pants. and there, an amazing race started. quest: to find a toilet. yes, it seems i've accumulated so much toilet karma in life that whenever i need a restroom, there is never one nearby.

anyhow, i was lucky enough to find one just around the corner of the street i was on (in macdonald's, EEKS), and the episode in that restroom will stay indelible in my memory for years to come. seriously guys, i can ignore the putrid stink of unflushed turds, wet farts, and even the polychromatic pubes on the urinal lips. these are, i suppose, unavoidable at times. BUT, what i cannot stand, is the heavy grunting as you strain, the cloistered breathing as you focus, and worse, the final contented sigh as you deliver. a cacophony like this is meant for your own ears only dude. forgive me if i seem uptight. i find inopportune farts totally hilarious (hey there, perpetual farter ND!), but i've had the fortune/misfortune of being exposed to only the rustling of newspapers, or the beeping of phones as smses are sent by businessmen eager to clinch deals even during the most private of moments. oh i almost forgot, i was treated to a symphony of ass trumpets a few times too. such rare treats indeed.

flashback: 6 years ago, prom at the ritz carlton. i mistakenly walked into the ladies, and promptly turned 180°. but that split second was all i needed to take in the gilded vanities and the upholstered canapé. fresh flowers adorned the countertop where eau de toilette and scented hand lotion and soap stood side by side. it could have possibly passed off as kublai khan's pleasure dome.

of coz, i do not expect all toilets to be like that. but seriously, plenty of male restrooms (particularly in some parts of spore) still have stalls that are so dirty you just feel like rushing to the nearest supermarket to grab a can of anti-bacterial spray before you face the onslaught. whenever nature (of the dark kind) calls, i have no choice but to choose the least dirty stall, twist my legs together like a Singapore Girl, maniacally wipe the seat crescent before mummifying it with toilet paper, and last but not least, make sure that i properly insulate that part of porcelain where pubes and piss thrive. PROTECTION my dear, haven't you heard of it?

and now that you're finally ready to do it, you realise that graffiti artists are determined to keep u entertained throughout as you follow the curves of a hairy genital crudely drawn onto the door, more often than not accompanied by a number at the side, which when called promises that you will be kept happy by 'Leonard's/Lisa the bitch's sucking'. -__-

this might be exaggerated, but it isn't too far from the truth: isn't it unfair that while the fairer sex chokes on potpourri in scented xanadus, we men, on the other hand, train our gag reflex or the duration of holding our breaths? there's another thing which floors me: why is it that women are more self-conscious when they fart? while men proudly proclaim it with their ass trumpets as they clear their system, women try to mask it by making theirs as discreet as possible. only the soft purring of a kitten or the faint braying of a unicorn betrays the presence of a woman in a stall. amazing isn't it?

i've seen some fathers bring their daughters into the gents. poor little innocent bluebells slowly rotting in the filth and putrefaction. i think i'd be one of the few fathers who will be late in toilet-training their kids.

"you're sure u dun wanna pee in your diapers? there are big smelly monsters in the toilet waiting to grab you.."

ah.. how my mind strays.