Chapter 1: Untitled

New book I'm working on.

By posting this, copyright is already established.

Stephen King said "Keep it simple."

The unfinished first chapter:

Untitled:

C1:

The room is decorated with shattered pictures, hanging on catawampus.  A wedding picture, their wedding picture, lays dismember on the stained carpet.  A broken lamp envelops one corner, a smashed television hangs on the wall, spider web glass serving as proof.  The drywall covered with fist sized black caves on all four sides.  Screws embedded into studs, their purpose unserved now. 

Twenty or so prescription bottles, most spilled during the struggle, rest on her nightstand, chipped faux wood, resembling a shelf from the drugstore.  One says Xanax, the other Valium, the next Lexapro, Paxil, Welbutrin, Fluoxetine, Clonazepam, Lorazepam, etc, etc.  Accumulated over years of distress, compounded on top of a marriage not quite kosher. 

This life isn’t the life she had envisioned.  Stereotypical white picket fenced house, vibrant green ensconced backyard filled with children’s laughter and glee.  A puppy giving chase, joining the family as they cookout with their neighbors and tell tales of yesteryears.  That life never happened, nor will it ever.

A his and her disaster piece.

Her chest heaves outward, followed by a deep sigh.

I love you he says.

I know she says as she looks down at the debris riddled floor.

This was for us, my gesture to us he says.

I know she says never looking up from her shattered life.  Her chest bulges with oxygen, followed by another bellowing sigh.

This changes nothing he says.  His hand reaches out to console her shoulder, she recoils.

Blood riddles their distressed faces.  Skin tore from freshly manicured fingernail.  Their hair is tangled and vandalized. 

Her pale white skin, contrasts with fresh red abrasions.  That blouse he bought her two birthdays ago, tore on the shoulder, stretch from his raged grip.  Her bra, black and white striped shows through.  She sits on the bed, comforter disheveled, pillows and sheets whisked around, in her torn blouse that barely hung low enough to cover her panties.  They seem unharmed. 

Her chest heaves rolls upward, followed by a tired sigh.

A decal clings to the wall, ‘Live Life Love’.  The three L’s for a happy, meaningful existence.  The first thing she read that morning, that last thing she saw when she closed her eyes.  Now it hangs half on, half off the wall, reading ‘Live Li’.  Her stomach swells, pursued by an agonizing sigh

The air is thick with hate, disgust.  A heat radiates through the room, burning their insides, discomfort.  Never looking towards one another, not even for a second.  Tears rain down moistening the woman’s hand.  Mucus slyly tries to escape her nose, sniffled back in. 

The man, her husband, surveys the damage.  Eyes wondering from left to right, just like yours.  Blood is on the carpet, patches of dark maroon trying to blend in.  So much blood.  Too much blood. 

Raising his hands to his war torn face, tracing the landscape searching for wounds, for pain.  Wetting his thumb, rubbing away a dried spot of blood on his forearm, he sits.  Motionless.  Slouched in shame.

The room smells of copper, metallic, all the blood.  The battle that took place was just as much psychologically damaging as it was physically. 

I am who I am he says.

I know she says, sniffling in between.  Her breasts rise, a sigh chases afterwards.

This changes nothing he says.  Repetition buying time for deeper thought. 

The crying deepens, from the soul, from the deepest spectrums of the inner body.  Looking face to face at the shattered family photo, probably the second thing smashed, thrown across the small white room.  Him, her, and their son.  Across the bottom it reads, ‘The Anderson Family’.  The perfect family. 

Say cheese and smile.

The perfect family.

Hold each other close.

The perfect family.

Eyes forward, shiny with love.

The perfect family. 

That’s gone now, forever, never coming back forever.  They sit back to back, too ashamed to face one another.  Every attempt he makes to physically sympathize with her, shunned, unwanted.  The room begins to yellow.  Brightness shines through, slowly at first, shards of light finding the gaps in the distraught window dressing.  Destroyed in the heat of passion, demolished by the heartbreak, ruined by the disgrace.

The sunlight captures a world unseen in the darkness.  Particles floating, swaying to the atmosphere.  Dancing in the light, disappearing into insignificance. 

I am your husband, I am the same Jim you married sixteen years ago he says. 

Her head shakes, the tears roll off the side of her peach bruised cheeks.  This is not who I married she says.  Why couldn’t you have started smoking, she says, or started drinking?  Why this?  Why turn to this?  She paws at a small plush frog, spotted with blood.  Her hand tremble, anxious of what’s next.  The frog, eyes innocent, peers into hers, eyes of pain, suffering, hurricane of emotion. 

Melissa, this changes nothing, he says, absolutely nothing.

Shreds of newspaper are strewn across the bed, almost resembling sheets, there’s so much of it.   The clippings from the man’s escapades.  His adventures, Jim’s “hobby”. 

This changes nothing he says again.  Eva, this changes nothing.  Shame can be heard in his voice, no conviction, no belief.

Tires can be heard screeching to a stop, close by.  Lots of them.  Vehicles sliding to a standstill quickly and precisely.  Muffled voices, commands echo out in the nearby. 

 
This changes nothing he says. 

One more sigh escapes before the voices are clear and it begins.

 

THAT'S IT.  HOPE IT WAS GOOD FOR YOU.

 

 

 

The art of dumping

What is the first thing you think about when you wake up?

Go ahead, take a second, I’ll wait.

If you didn’t say “taking a dump” then you are sincerely living the wrong type of life my friend.

Nothing in this world is more fulfilling than dropping a nice deuce first thing in the morning.  The feeling of relief that comes from that seemingly normal action is remarkable.  It’s all about timing, we all dump at some point during the day but timing it just right can have an enormous effect on your day. 

I want to caution you though, if you have a Snickers bar or chunky peanut butter late in the day or right before bedtime, you may want to let that beast settle.  No one, not even the most self-masochistic of them all, likes feeling the sharpness of a peanut poop clawing its way through your rectum, eventually leading to a small eruption of agony and overall demising self-worth.

9 out of 10 doctors recommend a morning deuce drop.  That’s 90 percent!  That was a real survey that was taken throughout the United States in 2011.  Every person holding a medical license or degree was asked this question, “At what time during the day would you recommend the average person to squeeze out a foot long tootsie roll?”  The response was a miraculous, “Morning – Between 7am-8am”.

You go to the doctor for everything else, why wouldn’t you listen to them now?  A dump in the morning is proven to increase a persons’ mood, their outlook on the day and increase their internal desire for either green fruit or raw turkey bacon (both of which are healthy for you, so says the FDA).

One other note, or caution, if you have to push so hard that you are seeing stars once you begin to cycle oxygen through your body again then you’re doing it wrong.  A morning dump between 7am and 8am may not be for you. 

You may have to build up your body’s desire to dump at that hour.  A couple tricks for doing so.  Squat above something dangerously sharp.  I know, I know, that sounds ridiculous but it works.  A) Squatting is proven to increase the body’s need and desire to defecate (poop), B) The increased anxiety from knowing if you make a fatal mistake you’ll have something horrible happen to you pooper will increase the flow of secretions inside the body and basically force you to urgently go deuce it up.

Another way to try to fall in the recommended time frame for morning dumping is to place a 1980 or older penny in your left hand, clinched tightly and push your belly button in with your right hand.  These directions are crucial because if done incorrectly the results could end up erasing every memory you have stored in your brain that falls on an odd numbered day.  Seriously.  Left hand 1980 or older penny and right hand pushing your belly button with no more than 6 lb-ft of pressure, just enough to crush and egg slowly.  

Take my advice, it’s doctor recommended and approved. 

Sleep well, stay strong and most of all NEVER CONFORM!

Society at its worst

Everyday something bad happens.  Something so heinous, so horrendous, so mind-boggling that it is hard to even conceive the fact that human beings are responsible for said catastrophes.  I’m not just talking about gun violence or bullying, political scandals or insider trading; I’m talking about society itself.

Society (us included) have lost all grasp on “reality” as we know it, or knew it I should say.  Society has let go of the perception of a group of people coexisting with one another in a close proximity.  We engage in verbal confrontations at the movie theaters because of a texting consumer seated in front of us before the lights even go dim, next thing you know someone’s getting shot and killed.  You accidently cut someone off while driving to work, horns blare and echo off into the distance and your hostile response ends with your car being attacked from behind leading to your own demise.
Even now with the Las Vegas incident that happened recently, police officers are being targeted because they are the “oppressors”.  Seriously?  What the hell is wrong with society?  Who is the first person you call when you need help, when you have a home intruder, when you have a domestic disturbance, when you need someone to save you?  Yet, society has now deemed police officers the enemy in any other situation that doesn’t involve coming to that one person’s rescue.

Get the fuck over yourselves.

I think we need a vote button, you vote right now *Yes for the police, *No for the police.  From that vote forward, you have will either receive help from the police or you will not, no matter the situation.  Then you can slander the underpaid, under respected civil servants that keep us sleeping soundly at night.

Kind of went off on a tangent there.

My point is, grow up.  Whether you’re 16 or 60, it’s time to grow up and get yourself under control.  Don’t try to control other people, don’t pass judgment on others, and don’t speak negatively of others if you yourself don’t have your life in proper order.

That’s called hypocrisy.

If there was a reset button at the ready, one that would start society over (not kill everyone or anything, just reboot the entire situation) then it should have been pushed a LONG time ago.  The reality of it all is we don’t have that ability.  Society is like a self cleaning feature on an oven that doesn’t really work.  Eventually, after all the cycles of oven self cleaning gone wrong it’s going to burst into flames and take everything and everyone with it.

Control your life, control your world and control your actions.  Do the right thing, whatever you deem that to be and sleep soundly at night knowing you did the right thing at the right time for the right reason.  We all make mistakes, society makes mistakes, but those can be fixed easily instead of placing blame and sulking over the error.
 Be proactive in your life instead of reactive.  Live like you want your children to live.  Would you want your kids to sit in a dark room crying because life is too hard every night?  Would you want your kids snorting cocaine or drowning in alcohol to ease the pain of another long drawn out workday?  Would you want your kids cutting themselves to feel pain, to know life is real, to know they can still feel something?
I wouldn’t, that would break my heart.

I’m not trying to paint the picture of perfect for myself either, I definitely have my vises.  This is as much an article to you as it is to me.  I am just as guilty as anyone else that is relating to this.  I guess that’s called hypocrisy as well but at least I am trying to recognize it and turn the ship around.

One final note: Society, please stop going crazy.  Eventually they are going to start making people take a day off of work each quarter at the same time and then they are going to oxygenate Xanax and pump it into our bodies.  That way there will be minimal to no actual thought going on, just nice quiet relaxed people in a zombie-like state.

Ok, maybe in the movies or something but that would be a pretty cool tactic.

Sleep well, stay strong, and most of all NEVER CONFORM!

I'll Take Create-A-Story for $1000 Please

Remember - 3 grown men.

Somewhere in the woods there was a baby penguin named Earl.  Earl was outcast by his herd at a young age because he was always touching himself in areas that only pre-teen to full grown penguins were allowed to touch on their own penguin bodies.  This made Earl very agitated, so he devised a plan to get back at the herd.  First, he would have to gather up a long stick, some Vaseline, a banana, and some chewing gum. Next he unsheathed the massive banana and cast it aside, making sure not to damage the peel.  Then Earl realizing the banana peeling exhausted him more than expected, decided now would be a good time for break.  So he unwrapped the chewing gum and started to relax.

As he was relaxing he noticed a bear nearby. He wanted to ask the bear what he would do if he wanted revenge for something. “Mr. Bear” the young penguin said, “how many animals have you accidentally touched wee-wee tips with and on a side note, how would a young penguin go about accomplishing vengeance against an entire herd of penguins?”  Unfortunately the Bear didn't speak Penguin so he just snarled and continued down the trail.  Focusing back on his initial plan, he picked up the jar of Vaseline and started to apply it on the stick. He then took the chewing gum and blew a bubble.  Carefully, Earl inserted the lubricated stick into the blown up bubble gum.  He slowly began to float from the ground or so it seemed.  But in fact, he suddenly felt himself getting light-headed and looked down to see himself standing in a pile of dead penguin bodies. He could not believe what he was seeing. When he realized it was indeed his own herd he passed out.

When he awoke he actually ended up being a she; a living, breathing female human being that was tied up in a straight jacket, naked from the waist down, and shackled to a table in a dimly lit room where a big Mexican named Pablo was standing in the corner yelling at an imaginary dragon.  A small voice from an intercom above her came out and said, “Pablo!  Eatin’ ain’t cheatin’, Bro!”  Pablo, who was married, then suddenly stopped talking to the dragon and looked over at the woman with a boyish grin.  As he stood and approached the woman on the table, he quickly came to a stop. He grabbed the chain he was attached to and pulled as hard as he could. The chain with a loud pop broke off the wall. He proceeded forward. The woman started screaming frantically and lashing around to try and escape. However, Pablo seized his opportunity, leaned down to the screaming woman’s ear and whispered, “Honey, let’s get the F out of here.”  Pablo tore his wife’s (Plot Twist!) shackles from the table and used the table she was shackled on to smash out the window exposing a 150’ drop straight down into a deep dark hole. He used the chain to tie off to a nearby rock and swing out of the room to see if there was a way up. They both were still a little delusional from the drugs they received and quickly realized the hole was a tunnel and the drop was a mere 2 feet. 

Pablo grabbed his wife, who was muttering about squirrel breast milk, and he stuffed her into a leather waist pouch he found nearby so he could move about freely without having to carry her in his hands.  He jumped into the tunnel and started about his marry way. As he was running through the tunnel he realized his wife had not made a sound for hours. He looked into the pouch and realized he had snapped the neck of his wife and killed her. Instead of weeping he built a fire so he could cook her hair and clothing.  Everyone knew Pablo’s favorite meal was human hair cotton poly blend soup.  Pablo boiled the water in an old rusty pot he found next to a dead bums bare bottom and then cooked and ate his meal contently.  Although he wasn't upset about what he did to his wife, he thought he should still honor her.  He took her body, still naked from the wasted down, and burned her in the woods just outside the tunnel. He then took her ashes to the nearest town. He found the first house and ran inside to find a massive Brazilian man and a man with a lower back tattoo of a squirrel with a magical nut playing a game with two cups.

Create-A-Story by three grown men

Create-A-Story written by three grown men:

Today someone stopped me while I was about to walk into a dark place in my mind, but I turned and said, “What the hell is that on your face? It looks like drool, only thicker and creamier.” To which she replied, “Oh, that…well I can show you better than I can tell you.  By the way, do you happen to have two cups nearby? This sort of activity requires two cups.  You take one cup and I’ll take the other then we will poke holes in the bottom of them and lubricate the ends, before we start. Now the fun begins. All you do is take your pinkie finger and gently slide it into the Styrofoam, back and forth a few times.  Next evenly spread the lubricant that transferred from the cup to your finger onto the roof of your mouth.” With a blank stare I asked her “Are you German?” When she replied, “Yes I am. What gave it away?” I quickly grabbed my domesticated monkey that I imported from Brazil and took off running as fast as I could.  Mr. Monkey, as I called him, had been clutching my inner thigh the entire time.  Suddenly not realizing that I had been shaking him vigorously due to the high speed run, he started to get agitated and then he jumped down tripping me.

Violently I awoke from the awkward dream. While brushing my teeth and scratching my recently acquired lower back tattoo of a squirrel with a magical nut, I shockingly noticed something on my face that looked like drool, only it was thicker and creamier.  That’s when I realized the Styrofoam cup with a hole sitting on my counter and a naked German girl in my bath tub. I quickly deduced that since I am allergic to anything German I should awkwardly creep out of my own apartment.  As I exited the front door I realized although she was German, there was no way I could’ve had any schnitzel the night before or my mouth would've been extremely swollen.  Just to be safe I went back inside hoping to find some sort of identification on this unknown German woman. As I was going through her purse I saw something rather strange. There seems to be a collection of used tampons and a jar of what appears to be freshly squeezed breast milk.  To be sure I opened the jar and took a whiff.  Judging by the smell, and the fact that the German girl was still knocked out in my bathtub, I quickly realized that this was not freshly squeezed.  In fact, I was certain it was the thick creamy substance I found on my face this morning. Unsure of what the substance was I began to taste it. That’s when the massive Brazilian soccer player broke the front door down screaming “Where is the monkey and why are you holding my jar of used hemorrhoid crème?!  If you spanked my monkey in any way I am going to…he pauses as he walks by the bathroom and notices the naked German girl and says calmly, why is there a naked German girl in your bathtub?  I stand motionless; he looks closer and realizes that she is indeed dead. He steps back and pulls out a knife and this time calmly asks me where the monkey is. That’s when he looked down to see the used Tampons. Because I was focused on the jar of hemorrhoid cream I failed to realize the long brown hairs on the tampons. He however, did not. All I could do was quickly gulp down the jar of used hemorrhoid crème to regain his attention.  Then I noticed what he was looking at and I swiftly plucked each long brown hair from the used tampons and jam them into my mouth.  He was baffled yet very intrigued at the same time.  That’s when he asked me if I was interested in a little activity involving 2 cups. 

You asked for it!

Disclaimer:

Here we go.  Buckle your seatbelts because this is highly inappropriate.  I won’t apologize, I won’t retract my statements because the facts are proven to be true.  Stop now or forever silently scoff at me behind my back…and we’re off.

I’d like to talk about skin to start.  If you really think about skin and the strength of it, what it is susceptible to, you know it is very fragile.  One of the most easily damaged areas of skin know to us is on a males wee-wee.  The skin in that region, specifically where the mushroom connects to the stem, has been found to suffer from the Massive Abrasionary Semi-Tear of the Urinary Region Beyond Abnormal Tensile Elasticity Syndrome, also known as M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome.  Today we will discuss common causes, common healing methods and most importantly, prevention.

                M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome can be caused in numerous different ways.  Since 1990, the three most common causes have been overuse, sheet/underwear material and wrong or lack of lubrication.  Over 72% of all diagnosed cases of M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome have been determined to be caused by overuse.  Overuse comes from many different scenarios.  Sometimes, during the act of self pleasuring, the male can lose focus and this can lead to an extended self pleasuring session.  By extending the session the friction created by the skin to skin contact increases causing the overall heat in that area to increase which in turn leads to a weakening of the skin and an eventual abrasion that could take days to heal.  Another example of overuse is exactly that, overuse.  Nine out of ten doctors recommend not exceeding 4 self pleasuring acts in any given 24 hour period.  The one doctor that went against that recommendation was found to be a M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome sufferer but refused to admit he had a problem.  Upon further investigation, the tip of his unit looked like a really large raisin connected to a burnt stick. 

               

                The remaining 28% of all cases of M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome are caused by the wrong sheet/underwear material and/or wrong or lack of lubrication.  Many studies have been conducted when it comes to the proper sheet style for the M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome sufferer.  When men go to sleep it has been clinically proven that most will encounter 5-9 moments of arousal, half of which are caused by incidental contact with the sheets on the bed.  Imagine running your skin slowly across an abrasive material 5-9 times in an 8 hour period with all of your body weight pressed against it.  Sounds painful doesn’t it?  Well the human body perceives that to be pleasure, at least in that region, so the brain’s natural response is to allow this action to continue to occur.  This same concept applies to the style of underwear a man wears (boxers, briefs or backwards thong).   Boxers and briefs tend to be more comfortable than the backwards thong because they don’t have a thin piece of fabric splitting the beans apart and allowing the frank to flop about freely, however, the backwards thong not only provides free and natural movements but it also contains the beans and prevents them from bouncing off of the thigh regions.  A lack of lubrication or insufficient lubrication can also lead to potential M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome.  The proper lube to no lube ratio is 2 to 1, basically that means for every 1” you should apply 2mLs of lubrication.  Learn it, live it, know it.

                When it comes to healing methods for the M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome sufferer, the basic rules of skin care apply.  Don’t pick at it, certainly don’t lick it (or have someone else lick it), don’t get it excessively wet, don’t touch it other than to apply ointment.  The main takeaway on the healing side is not to use any form of Liquid Bandage.  We all know the stuff, strong smell and a brush applicator.  Don’t use it!  Take it from someone with experience, it will burn you and I’m not talking about a temporary burning pain.  Liquid Bandage will burn your pee-pee, basically to the point that you can’t recognize it.  Have you ever put salt on a slug?  Yeah, just like that.  Apply ointment and leave it alone until the wound begins to scab.  Only then will the real healing process begin.

                We’ve touched on some of the basic prevention methods, avoid overuse and wear a backwards thong, but there are many more methods to help avoid suffering from a case of M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome.  The number one prevention method I am going to recommend is to avoid boredom.  Boredom leads to random thoughts and all random thoughts lead to playing with IT.  Any man that tells you otherwise is a liar.  So get some hobbies, get on social media, whatever you have to do because M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome is not something to be taken lightly.  Another good preventative method is to sleep on your back.  I feel I don’t have to elaborate on this one because it’s freaking common sense.  Now, the tough one, maintain adequate focus when pleasuring yourself, sounds easy right?  This is a lot harder (no pun intended) than it sounds.  It’s basically like trying to force yourself to have a Lucid Dream.  It’s damn near impossible.  Focusing and rhythm go hand in hand here.  Maintaining a good rhythm will allow you to maintain proper focus and avoid a prolonged experience and a higher chance at suffering from M.A.S.T.U.R.B.A.T.E. Syndrome. 

                Don’t take this lightly.  It sounds and seems like a joke but this is a serious problem, dare I say a pandemic.  Don’t be afraid to ask for help, the only thing worse than suffering is suffering alone. 

Sleep well, Stay strong and most of all NEVER CONFORM! 

Bathroom Public Service Announcement

We as people have accomplished some remarkably amazing feats.  We have the ability to launch missiles while submerged underneath the water of an ocean, we can send manned and unmanned crafts out of our atmosphere and have them return with ridiculous accuracy and we are also able to co-exist (for the most part) with one another in a semi-civil manner.  Tell me why we can accomplish all of these unthinkable tasks but the best (most common) bathroom stall design has so many flaws.

                You ALL know what I’m talking about.  The bathroom stall that has the hinged door connected with some brackets to the wall and then connected to another wall 90 degrees out.   This needs to be broken down to make it easier to digest.

                First up, the cracks between the door and the adjacent structure.  There are two major slots between where the door is secured with the lock and where the door hinges allowing access to the facilities.  I’d say on a good day, total between those two slots, there’s a ¾” gap on a bad day maybe 1-1/4”.  I understand the concept behind it, it’s a door so hinges are basically a structural requirement.  If there isn’t enough gap then the door will not function properly, I get it.  We’ve all been in those restrooms that have legitimate doors, with knobs that have absolutely no vertical gaps of any sort.  As humans, we need to stand united and raise awareness.  Give me real bathroom stall doors or give me death.

                Next, let’s discuss the gaps all around the bottom of the bathroom stall.  I don’t need to know that Mr. Black Adidas is dumping for the 12^th time today nor do I need to be able to see his belt lightly touching the urine soaked, poop covered bathroom floor.  If someone tries to argue that it is a safety thing, no one can hide in there until the store closes because the bottom of the stall is not covered, I call shenanigans!  They can just as easily stand on the toilet, concealing their feet (and body) from view and allowing them to be a major security concern. 

Side note, I have heard about some sexual solicitation taking place in public restrooms.  A little trick they use is going into the stall positioning yourself in the restroom using position and having the sexual technician (lady or man of the night) stand in paper grocery bag which is placed in front of the person’s feet.  More power to them for being creative.  I have nothing further today about this part.

Finally, I know you’re all waiting for it.  The top of the stall.  I know you are all probably waiting for me to bash on it and really dig in but I couldn’t care less.  If someone wants to stare down at me while I’m dropping a deuce, more power to them.  I’m ok with the tops of the stalls being open.  I have many fond memories from my younger days that involve the tops of the bathroom stalls.  MANY! 

I’ve left out many other aspects of the stall that aren’t necessarily a fault of the design, the glory holes (possible in any type of faux wood), the boogers being applied by bored bathroom users that don’t know how to occupy themselves with their phones instead of their noses and of course the toilet paper dispensers with the sharp teeth that are certainly necessary to tear a piece of toilet paper with a tensile strength equivalent to a piece of melting chocolate.  If I didn’t focus on the main areas of concern then this would have just been a big waste of time.

I am urging you all, as a people, to band together in unison and let’s begin the revolution against the injustice that is being forcefully jammed down our sensitive and quite intricate throats.  I have a dream (MLK reference) that one day we will all be able to deuce in public and feel just as comfortable doing it as if we were at our own homes using our own poop buckets.  I have a dream that one day I will not have to watch someone’s leg rhythmically twitch because they are tugging on something they shouldn’t be (at least not in public).  Let’s make these dreams become a reality, let’s make this world one step closer to a utopian society by revolting against all bathroom stall manufacturers that still produce these unconstitutional (not really) dump boxes.  Dream with me, live with me, love with me. 

Sleep well, Stay strong and most of all NEVER CONFORM!