pure evil, feline-based humor

I encountered pure evil over the weekend. Pure, concentrated evil.

In the form of a toilet seat cover.

See, these things had to have been invented by a woman. No two ways about it. First, it's just something extra that's supposed to "look" pretty, but has no purpose. No guy would do that.

Second, it creates a problem that wouldn't affect women, but would affect men.

So, here's what should happen - and then I'll explain what happened in the presence of this evil.


A man enters the bathroom, raises the lid and the seat, and stands with feet at shoulder width apart. He extracts, by whatever means he feels comfortable with, that which needs to be extracted. With careful aim, he relieves his bladder and gives a slight shake. The extraction process is reversed and he flushes the toilet while he lowers the seat and occasionally the lid, then washes his hands and leaves the bathroom.

In this case, however, the fuzzy toilet seat cover prevented the seat from remaining in an upright position. Without support, the lid would most likely come crashing down during the operation and cause a terrible mess. Also, not lifting the seat would result in a terrible retribution from the next woman to use the bathroom.

In the past, I've dealt with this problem by using a bungee cord to force the seat into compliance, but none was available. So, with a little planning, I attempted the following operation:

I entered the bathroom and approached the toilet. When it became clear that the seat was going to be a problem, I extracted what needed to be extracted, then stood at an angle to the toilet. I also stood much closer than usual, then raised the seat. Holding the seat in place with my knee, I proceeded to relive myself nearly straight down - which, in the absence of a toilet is a good way to urinate on ones shoes and is thus avoided.

I worked quickly for fear that my leg would cramp up or that I would loose my balance. Task completed, I gave a little shack and lowered the seat, then reversed the extraction. Lid lowered, toilet flushed and hands washed - exit.

Each time I had to use the bathroom at this location, I had to repeat the same operation. I did a lot of swearing and I was cranky. And it was all so that the toilet seat would match the rug.

Evil, I'm telling you. Pure evil.


In other news... my room-mate and I don't have any pets. Still, somehow, we've managed to acquire some music-related, feline-based humor. It started several months ago when he decided that the Enya song "Storms in Africa" had cats meowing in the background instead of the children singing that everyone else hears. Since them, we'll both find ourselves quietly meowing along with a song, where it sounds appropriate. Yeah, it's silly - but you'd be amazed at how funny it is. Last evening, while we were eating a meal, listening to music and I was telling a story - the song, "I can't go for that" came on the cable music.

During the second chorus, my room-mate interrupted me and said in time with the song - "I can't find my cat". Totally matter-of-fact and perfectly timed.

You really had to be there and since I was, its a good thing I didn't have food in my mouth since I most likely would have sprayed it out along with some braying laughter.

So, that's pretty much it for now. Later...