Where the Gut Meets the Hole

Men are really nasty buggers. When left to our own devices any sort of pleasantry or cleanliness or civility isn’t anywhere to be found.
At any given airport the men’s restrooms are eye openers, rib ticklers for sure. A veritable three ring circus for those not faint of heart. Want to see and hear men at their finest? Pay a men’s restroom a visit... but be forewarned; the sounds that spill and curdle forth are enough to make anyone lose their appetite for good and never look at a man the same way again. A barnyard sound. There’s puddles of piss all over the floors. Feces routinely spackle the walls. Nasty, disgusting paper towels filled with god knows what are strewn everywhere except where they belong. And then, of course, an odor pervades that will fare you well make every nose hair fall in a heap upon the floor. Manly fueng shui on prominent display.
Just the other day I walked into a men’s restroom at LAX and a Japanese man was taking a piss. It looked as if he was trying his damnedest to clean the walls with his pee as none of his rusty emissions were hitting the urinal. He turned and looked me dead in the eye when I walked in and farted so loud his pants flapped in the breeze. He looked at me like I should give him a compliment or score the fart based upon timbre and character. And that was just the beginning...
Seconds later a noise ripped from the stalls behind me that sounded as if someone were gutting a whale. And for minutes afterward the most putrid racket continued to explode as if the man were losing his entire intestinal tract. Then there was the godawful smell that followed, enough to make me gag. Before I could leave this garden of holiness a man standing over the basin closed off one nostril with his thumb and blew ribbons of snot all over the countertop and made no attempt to wipe it off, leaving the green chunks where they lay and walked out as if it were his right. Then a new wave of gloppy, liquid explosions careened off the wall from the stall to my right, a man inside moaning and groaning as if he were dying. No parts of decorum or punctilio anywhere. Only malodorous ubiquity. Pigs in human suits. Wallowing in their own filth and bathing in their fetid glory.
One thing’s for certain, I’m damn sure glad I don’t have to fuck one of us.