Dear Asshole Toilet-Squatting Women,
It is high time for you grown ass women to just knock this shit off and take a seat. There are no hungry sewer alligators lurking in toilet bowls. Especially if, like me, you live in Utah. We don’t even have any alligators here. Unless you count the two in the zoo (or is it three….hmmmm.) Come to think of it, we don’t have much of a sewer system to sustain much reptilian life. Certainly not the palatial subterranean water works commonly featured in Ron Perlman vehicles (Hell Boy, Beauty and the Beast, City of Lost Children.) Your juicy buttocks are safe from repto-amphibious attacks from the deep.
And contrary to what our incompetent school sex ed curricula may lead you to believe, you cannot get pregnant from a toilet seat. If you could, we would have heard about it by now from Wendy Williams. Plus, Maury Povich’s baby daddy episodes would be much less mundane. “Carissa, in the case of baby Xstaci, the second stall toilet at the Wendy’s bathroom inside the Cheyenne Chevron IS your baby’s daddy.”
On a similar note, the CDC has issued precisely zero alerts on the catastrophic rates of toilet herpes. That is because herpes germs are wimps and their survival on the rim of a toilet bowl is about as likely as a naked Neil Armstrong’s chances on the moon. Besides, the level of intimacy you and said toilet seat would achieve before you’d need to check in for an STD test does not bear consideration. If that is the fetish you’re in to, keep it between yourself and the duke of dookie.
So what is it then that keeps you from sitting the fuck down and using the goddam toilet like the rest of us? Is your ass so special that it must only touch virgin porcelain? Have you had it’s flesh surgically replaced with leather fashioned from the ears of two-day old albino lambs? Is your derriere by Cartier? Just sit the fuck down!
Or if you insist on squatting, at least do what most 5 year old boys have already mastered and lift the Christing toilet seat. I’m not concerned about you remembering to put the seat back down, trust me. That’s just a dick move men do to remind us that the goals of feminism have not yet been realized.
So my final plea to my squatting sisters is to entreat you, if squat you must, could you at least not squat in the handicapped stall? It’s a real slap in the face and a fine fuck you too for those of us unsquatables. You’re so concerned about your own silk-lined backside, have you failed to realize that the rest of us don’t consider it a treat to sit down in your backsplash. Never yet have I seen the golden backsplash of even the saintliest of urine streams cure so much as a hang nail let alone heal the paraquats or feeble-limbed. No good can come of your failure to simply wipe the fucking seat off. Save the miracles for church, not the public restroom of the local megaplex. I always have to pee after a two hour movie and my artificial knees and hips can’t take squatting without going down like the bridge over the River Kwai. And when that inevitable fall comes, I don’t need to splash down in your leftovers.
The cripple with your pee all over her ass.