Dick Kentucky (stooge) wrote in thequestionclub,
Dick Kentucky
stooge
thequestionclub

Have you ever urinated while eating pastry?

You may want to click below....

This is a little diddy I wrote back in 2001. I've kept the scrap of paper and this is the venue I've been waiting for I suppose....

I went into the washroom earlier today on my break. There were two strapping lads at the urinals. One, a short gentleman from a now defunct department and Merl. I could tell the man was uncomfortable relieving himself beside Merl. I felt uncomfortable as well. Merl did not see me however. I splashed some water over my face to wash away the film of AIDS that usually glazes over one's face every 2 hours and 33 minutes from working at the crab factory. I left promptly, my face still wet, paper towels in hand.
My break was almost over, and so I walked down the hall returning to my automated lost young boy containment cage for thirsty pirates, preparing myself mentally for yet another pummeling. It was then that the horror of what I had seen in the washroom all at once started to wash over me like the water I had just recently entrusted with my visage.
With one hand, Merl was holding his penis, in the other hand he was holding some kind of pastry in a paper wrapper. It was unwrapped, and while urinating he tore into the pastry like the primal Portuguese carnivore his father would be proud of, ripping away at the flaky crust like a T-Rex tearing a strip of flesh off his dead prey. Breadcrumbs exploded everywhere with each bite! The gentleman beside Merl was somehow discreetly urinating in a cranal praying mantis type maneuver of avoidance dodging the breadcrumbs like Neo dodges bullets, except this man was holding his penis. Aside from the smell of the hot stuffed pastry there was the odour of the "Phantom Menace." A person? A silent witness? No. A holy harbinger of confectionary destiny and nothing less. For this perfectly placed owner of an anus was dropping more bombs than Al Qaeda in the stall behind all of us. The odour of his craft inescapable, creeping over us, swallowing us, like John Landis' smoke machines in the Thriller video. The feeling of uneasiness myself and the urinating contortionist shared that day will not soon be forgotten. For the rest of my shift, I found myself in awe of the basic logistics of such a dining habit. How did he pull his penis out? What if he tinkled on his hands? (For he is no surgeon let me tell you) Did he wash both hands afterwards? Have I ever eaten out of the same bag of chips as Merl? Thankfully no. But I have used the mouse at his computer before and it was unusually greasy. To this day I am haunted by the image of him sinking his teeth into that pastry while being as nude as I'll ever care to see him. I have never seen a beast so ruthless eating pastry as that day in 2001. I have never seen an animal eat in a climate of such excretion. He could have appeared so fragile or embarrassed. Even hurried or nervous may have been partially acceptable. But it was not so friends. For he appeared alien to me, he was in harmony, at such peace and complete ease with the situation. I clearly do not understand. I may be over-reacting. Perhaps this is a common thing. All I can offer at this point is that I have never seen eating like this and if in the future, at an interval of 2 hours and 33 minutes into my shift, should I glimpse a breadcrumb in the urinal, the cries of horror emanating from the men's washroom that day will rival those who paid and sat through all 110 minutes of Gigli.

“I'm ready. I'm ready for the laughing gas. I'm ready. I'm ready for what's next.”
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