An Imaginary Conversation With My Girlfriend

The urinals at work are awful.
They comprise some of the
worst design choices I have
ever witnessed or been privy to.
The thing is 'V'-shaped, which
would be OK in most situations, but
is made at such a severe angle that
the backsplash returns
a full stream right on your pants.

Every time I use it I can
see the droplets spring forth from the porcelain
with such force it's everything
I can do to dodge them while
still maintaining a respectable distance
from the stall. My
feet must part an extra foot
at an equally acute angle as the urinal.

The floor wets itself every
time, as a nod to its own design flaws.
God forbid I strike the
dome-shaped drain with my pee-stream --
it guffaws as it throws yellow
drops straight at my face.

The pink sterile smelling cakes
are just more obstacles to traverse.
Ultimately, I have two choices - constant
vigilance to protect my shoes,
or the toilet stool.

I tell you this
because you listen.
I wish I had a story about
some incredible sale I made,
or how my
coworker is having lunch
with Tommy Lee Jones tomorrow. But
my day isn't fraught
with interesting goings-on.

Nay, it's the urinals or silence.

In conclusion, my pants stayed dry today.


An Imaginary Conversation With My Girlfriend by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Name Calling

You fat, ugly cunt.

You waste of skin, you
harried and unrepentant bitch. You filthy
piece of humanity, you poor,
snobbed misguided
form, you sincerely large pile of saggy tits
and loose pussy, you callous-handed harbinger of pain
and suffering.

You immature half of a person,
you child, you
indescribably bad liar, you cavorting slut, you
sad excuse for a woman, you undesirable piece
of female genitalia, you reason men turn gay.

You paunch of disgust and reverb, you mannish hen, you
sorry grub of musical talent, you infinitesimally
intelligent sow, you beady-eyed con artist,
you slow-witted wonder of molecules, you attention-
seeking thrill rat, you drug-addled
veil of sycophantic maina.

You hypocritical mass of hysterics.



I used to love you.


Name Calling by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

The 100th Post.

Is boring. Move on to the next one please.

Oh, and be good, or be good at it.