Thursday, May 12, 2011

Hands of Fate

Let's get something straight here:

Quit telling me to wash my hands after I take a leak.


I don't use my hands to build some kind of filtration system for which to piss through, keeping minerals and nutrients aside to be digested later.
Also, my penis is probably the cleanest part of my body. It's been in my pants all day, unexposed to the elements. I don't shake hands with it. Unfortunately. I don't take it out to weigh down raw meat on the counter. You can see your reflection in my cock. That's how clean and shiny it is. My girlfriend uses it as a vanity mirror to re-apply her make-up in the car sometimes.


Feel free to eat off it. Please?

And most urinals are automated now, so it's not like gripping a clammy, sweaty palm down on some kind of flush mechanics, covered in the grime and piss of the special needs kid who just walked out wearing a helmet with chocolate(?) smeared all over his shirt and hands.


Maybe when you piss it's like the Exxon Valdez, spraying everywhere, killing local marine life.


But since I don't have a degenerative nerve disease like Parkinsons, when I shake at the end, I'm more than capable of doing it carefully enough not to spill any drops out.


So next time I come out of the bathroom and you don't hear the sink, maybe instead of saying, "Don't you wash your hands???!!!" you should be saying, "I'd like to shake that clean hand of yours."

"Thank you," I'd reply graciously. "And might I add, your lipstick looks a tad smudged. Why don't you reapply it. Here, use this..."

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