I just made you up
To hurt myself
That new Nine Inch Nails (free!!!) album is freaking phenomenal. We listened to it 6 or 7 times last night.
It's so good that I went to Itunes and paid Trent Reznor 99 cents for the song, "Only," which I already own on cd, but am too lazy to find and put in my cd drive. (BTW- I highly recommend you spend 99 cents for that song as well.)
I went over to (soon-to-be) my new house today to take some measurements with my friend, Ross. He's gonna put in new floors, new cabinets, granite countertops, set it up so we can cook with gas and change the shape of the island.
{After all, the island is kind of the Captain Kirk command center of the house.}
Christian rock dude was pretty cool. He showed me around the house and showed me little features of which I was not aware. For instance, he has the entire house wired for sound. Even the outside. Bedrooms, deck, surround sound in the tv room, kitchen... pretty much everything except the bathroom.
He also clued me in to some features of the soundproof "Rock Room."
Holy shit, am I going to have some fun in there. He's got banks of computers, wires everywhere, huge speakers and instruments galore.
I think I saw an accordion.
The Mitten is going to rawk the holy hell out of that place.
I'm going to need more amplifiers. And a drum set.
I got a little distracted with the new house smell.
The reason for this post is that I was at work today, and I walked to the bathroom to take a leak. There is one urinal and a stall.
I stepped to the urinal and I heard some strange noises.
The person in the stall was breathing rapid, shallow breaths ... lamaze-style.
(A.) Like I even know what the fuck lamaze means.
(B.) Like I know anything about having kids.
(C.) It didn't matter. I was pissing and this guy was breathing hard.
(D.) Giving birth.
I'm standing there, thinking, "Holy Shit. Somebody's having a baby in there."
Due to the confines of the room, he knew I was there. Hey, we've all struggled to push out a defiant, uppity dump. Maybe he had Mexican. I'm not judging.
He walked out of the bathroom rapidly, with his head down. He neither flushed, nor did he wash his hands.
He was morbidly obese, a real estate broker.
Three hundred-something pounds, white hair, and a full, unironic mustache. He was wearing a button-down, short-sleeve oxford cloth shirt.
The shirt was light blue.
I only glanced at him for a second, in the mirror as I was urinating.
(Urinate? If you had bigger tits, you'd be a ten.)
He walked by, with his head down, ginormous gut hanging over his pants.
We didn't know each other, but for some reason, he was in there, breathing like he was giving birth to twins.
I heard it. He knew I heard it. I was peeing. He walked by.
I knew he didn't flush.
He didn't wash his hands.
I glanced up and to my right and our eyes met in the mirror.
I wondered what he left in the bowl.
It was Wednesday.
It's so good that I went to Itunes and paid Trent Reznor 99 cents for the song, "Only," which I already own on cd, but am too lazy to find and put in my cd drive. (BTW- I highly recommend you spend 99 cents for that song as well.)
I went over to (soon-to-be) my new house today to take some measurements with my friend, Ross. He's gonna put in new floors, new cabinets, granite countertops, set it up so we can cook with gas and change the shape of the island.
{After all, the island is kind of the Captain Kirk command center of the house.}
Christian rock dude was pretty cool. He showed me around the house and showed me little features of which I was not aware. For instance, he has the entire house wired for sound. Even the outside. Bedrooms, deck, surround sound in the tv room, kitchen... pretty much everything except the bathroom.
He also clued me in to some features of the soundproof "Rock Room."
Holy shit, am I going to have some fun in there. He's got banks of computers, wires everywhere, huge speakers and instruments galore.
I think I saw an accordion.
The Mitten is going to rawk the holy hell out of that place.
I'm going to need more amplifiers. And a drum set.
I got a little distracted with the new house smell.
The reason for this post is that I was at work today, and I walked to the bathroom to take a leak. There is one urinal and a stall.
I stepped to the urinal and I heard some strange noises.
The person in the stall was breathing rapid, shallow breaths ... lamaze-style.
(A.) Like I even know what the fuck lamaze means.
(B.) Like I know anything about having kids.
(C.) It didn't matter. I was pissing and this guy was breathing hard.
(D.) Giving birth.
I'm standing there, thinking, "Holy Shit. Somebody's having a baby in there."
Due to the confines of the room, he knew I was there. Hey, we've all struggled to push out a defiant, uppity dump. Maybe he had Mexican. I'm not judging.
He walked out of the bathroom rapidly, with his head down. He neither flushed, nor did he wash his hands.
He was morbidly obese, a real estate broker.
Three hundred-something pounds, white hair, and a full, unironic mustache. He was wearing a button-down, short-sleeve oxford cloth shirt.
The shirt was light blue.
I only glanced at him for a second, in the mirror as I was urinating.
(Urinate? If you had bigger tits, you'd be a ten.)
He walked by, with his head down, ginormous gut hanging over his pants.
We didn't know each other, but for some reason, he was in there, breathing like he was giving birth to twins.
I heard it. He knew I heard it. I was peeing. He walked by.
I knew he didn't flush.
He didn't wash his hands.
I glanced up and to my right and our eyes met in the mirror.
I wondered what he left in the bowl.
It was Wednesday.
posted by Joe at
6:08 PM
6 Comments:
Lamaze doesn't work worth shit.
Dude... the proper nonmenclature is Asian-American NOT Chinaman!
Maybe he wasn't pinching one? I imagine other things can cause Lamaze-like breathing in a bathroom stall...naked pictures of Lindsay Loh@nn on his iPhone?
Uppity Dump should be the name of a rock band. Holy Uppity Dump if you're of your house seller's persuasion.
Love hearing about the new house. Is yours sold already?
No, P... My house is not yet sold.
It's for sale, cheap. Everything must go.
That post-it on the gong should help it sell quickly.
And, indeed, maybe he was waxing the dolphin in there... but it would be strange for him to continue for a minute after I entered the room.
(Maybe he was almost finished?)
He is morbidly obese, so maybe he did stop and was still just panting heavily.
Eww
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