Howdy, neighbor!  Long time no speak.  You’ll have to forgive my recent silence as I have been experiencing a series of woeful events that has knocked me off stride for a while.  Given my most recent article (WWJD), I thought that perhaps my misfortune was indeed a sign of divine intervention and that God was a vengeful son of a bitch, or bitch (see, I’m sensitive to those feminists out there) who can’t take a joke.  Although I can’t prove or disprove the presence of a supernatural being who screws around with all of us on a daily basis for entertainment, life goes on and I’ve gotten back the itch to start venting, raving, preaching, exposing, etc. (whatever this article is about), once again.

      The recent travels of one of my fellow DOGZine members to Japan, and his lifelong infatuation with his bowel moments and those experiences associated with this natural removal of refuse, has inspired me.  There needs to be a traveler’s guide specifically dedicated to bathroom facilities.  As any international traveler will tell you, “dropping the kids off at the lake” can become an adventure in and of itself when not properly prepared for the international bathroom.  Although I am far from an expert in this area, these would be some entries in this crucial traveler’s guide:

ENGLAND – pubs and rugby clubhouses – urinating shrines.  These facilities commonly feature what my friends and I affectionately call “the pissing walls.”  Instead of separate urinals, these establishments will likely have a wall with a porcelain covering about 3-4 feet high, 6-8 feet wide, with a perforated metal pipe running across the top (dripping or trickling water) and a drain at the bottom.  Although not technically advanced, this primitive set-up gives the user the undeniable feeling that he is pissing on the establishment’s wall.  This hint of deviance makes the act more pleasurable than the mere release of the numerous pints one has consumed.  As the level of drunkenness increases, the user can increase his fun by running back and forth across the wall, challenging his pal to a distance contest, or pissing on the pipe without becoming “well out of order.”  This set-up also lends itself to the ever-amusing game of tossing change into the pisser each time you visit to see when, and it ALWAYS happens, some broke, drunk bastard fishes out the change for one last pint.  The common urinal troughs found in the U.S. are just a cheap rip-off of this English treasure; although the desperate drunks will appreciate the ergonomic benefit of not having to bend over so far to scoop out the change.  The urinal troughs make the whole experience too sterile, too controlled for one to enjoy.  Once the deviant pleasure is taken away, you just come to realize that you are standing very close to another man with his dork in his hand – yikes!!!

JAPAN – shitting Samurai style.  On my first trip to the Orient, nearly 8 yrs. ago, my co-workers and I encountered something that we were not prepared for – the shit hole.  Literally, in place of a toilet, you have a hole in the floor, complete with outlines of feet to show you where to stand, to drop baggage.  No, no, my redneck friend, this isn’t the same as the outhouse your Pa just built out back.  This “hole” is plumbed with water and is capable of being flushed.

       I encountered “the hole” while in a Japanese train station – huge, crowded facilities that are central to transportation in Tokyo, like subway stations on the East Coast.  Due to a tremor in my belly from one of the exotic, hidden toppings on my Shakey’s pizza the night before, – who puts fish on a pizza for God’s sake? – I hastily entered the bathroom and looked for an open stall.  My target located, I entered the unoccupied stall and froze – where the hell was the toilet?  What I saw was a hole in the tile floor, bordered with a stainless steel lip, complete with outlines of footprints on either side.  The implied directions were obvious, drop your pants, squat, and release, but the execution seemed impossible to me.  First, where were the damn handles?!  If I’m going to be bearing down without the foundation of a porcelain stool to steady me, I need something to hold onto.  Nothing!!  Second, unlike the Japanese, I’m not used to squatting.  As such, it is quite uncomfortable, if not impossible, for me to remain on my feet and drop my ass mere inches from the floor.  I am much more comfortable in the skier’s tuck position – knees at 90 degrees, elbows on your thighs, etc.  Thus, my ass will be about three feet above “the hole.”  This brings me to my third problem, hitting the hole.  This thing isn’t very big, a foot diameter, and it doesn’t have a funnel on it – it’s either in or it’s out.  Now a foot-wide hole may sound like a plentiful target to you, but there are complications.  One, one always tends to sway or rock a little when in the squatting position.  Hence, it’s like trying to drop a golf ball in a hole while on a swing.  Two, no targeting system for the anus.  That’s right, how do you know when you are over the target?  There’s no plumb bob hanging from your ass.  You don’t have a bombardier riding piggyback.  If you look through your legs for target confirmation, you invariably lift your ass and the “lock-on” target is lost.  The difficulty in targeting experienced by one of my predecessors in the stall was painfully brought to my attention by the half loaf left on the right, front of the hole’s rim.  The pressure was too much for me.  I couldn’t face the challenge.  I cinched up my anus and made my escape when no one was around.  After all, I didn’t want to be associated with the collateral damage left on the hole’s rim; and, I didn’t want anyone wondering why I was in the stall for more than a minute without ever initiating a flush.  My thought as I fled the bathroom was as follows:  If Japan can make a color TV that fits in my hand, why can’t they master the toilet?

       One of my co-workers wasn’t as lucky in his “hole” encounter.  Unfortunately, he did not have the luxury of postponing nature’s call in order to find more comfortable, familiar surroundings.  My co-worker was an older fellow, mid-50s, whose gastrointestinal system had difficulty in coverting over from Texas BBQ to Japanese sushi in the span of a few days.  As a result, he soon found himself dashing to the closet restroom facilities when he felt the first tremors in his lower intestine.  Upon entering the closet restroom, he burst into a stall and came face-to-face with “the hole.”  Clearly, the small musculature of his anus could not hope to hold back the pending eruption any longer.  He turned, drop trou, and released the anal blast.  Not having used a “hole” previously, he made some cataclysmic errors: 

1. Not getting his ass perfectly parallel to the stall floor; and

2. Releasing his anal demon several feet above its intended resting place.

       Given the liquefied nature of his bowel movement and the rocket fuel-like qualities that sushi generated in his system, the result was horrific, if not unexpected – he spackled “the hole” and the entire back wall of the stall.  Much to the rest of the group’s surprise, the next morning’s training session began not with an explanation of machine function as expected.  Instead, our Japanese instructor had drawn a crude diagram on the board of “the hole” and a stick figure using it.  He then, with the help of the translator, tried to instruct all of us on the proper use of “the hole.”  Clearly, something had gone amiss.  Later, racked with guilt (and drunk with beer), the co-worker shared his experience and gave true meaning to our instructor’s lesson.  One thing is for sure; there is a custodial worker somewhere in Japan who wishes there was an international bathroom guide, and who hates Americans.

Idiot Sighting:  US newspaper – Not too long ago, I came across an article in the newspaper that said that a recent study in Europe determined the Internet was a cause for many marital break-ups.  Apparently, men and women alike found it more desirable to “surf” the ‘Net than spend time with their mate.  This caused the relationship to be weakened until, eventually, one person decided to end it.  Let’s be realistic.  It isn’t the Internet that is causing this problem.  The Internet is simply the newest instrument people use to escape boredom and lack of physical attraction to their mate.  It joins a long line of past “causes:”  porn magazines, porn television, strip clubs, vibrators, etc.  If your mate is frequently masturbating with one hand on the keyboard during a hot cyber-sex session – no, they aren’t surfing e-Bay for 4 hrs. every night – than you need to come to grips with the fact that you:

• have let yourself go since the relationship began and are now such a fat slob that your partner finds a fake, Glamour Shots picture on the web and their right hand more desirable than you.

• are such an ass or bitch that your partner can’t stand to be around you long enough to have sex.

• a combination of both.

• you chose a partner who is a sexual deviant and, that being said, you must be one too.

Face the facts.  Don’t be an Idiot!

Until next time, The Idiot 

THE IDIOT DISCLAIMER -
The articles/comments/opinions found here represent those thoughts that all people have that are repressed because open discussion of these thoughts are considered too "taboo," "controversial," "not politically correct," and/or "insensitive" by societal standards. These are the same comments that come to mind instinctively when a person hears some bit of news, but are held unspoken by a mind that considers the consequences of such a comment faster than the mouth can form the words to speak it. In order to provide a simple description of this contribution, consider it the ramblings of an individual with either an abnormally quick mouth or a ploddingly slow mind. On second thought, let's just say inflammatory things and flip society the Polish peace sign.