Thursday, August 28, 2014

What. The. Fuck.

Listen, this is a blog about toilets and bodily functions. We've seen some things. We've talked about stuff you probably wouldn't share at the dinner table. In fact, some days you can get a little jaded, thinking you've seen it all.

“Do I even have the capacity to be shocked anymore? a potty blogger thinks to himself.

And then...

Yesterday, I stumbled across a crime scene so hard to explain that it immediately slapped me back to the “ olden days of this blog. When coworkers seemed to go out of their way to find new and creative ways to soil the porcelain.

It was first floor mens room. (Yes, the one that no longer says “men on the outside of the door but, rather, sports a cheeky set of painted “two low balls to indicate “this one is for the fellas.)

I headed to the penthouse stall for a quiet sit when I pushed back the door and saw it.

“Is that a large, wet caterpillar that has just pushed out of its cocoon and crawled up on the seat?” is how my brain first tried to make sense of what it saw.

But it was no caterpillar.

And this was no in-the-bowl remnant. This was an honest-to-goodness, proud-as-a-peacock, sitting-smack-dab-on-the-seat turd.

Many questions flooded forward.

Was it coworkers silent protest? Or a cry for help?

Was it the rogue byproduct of an interviewee's nervous tummy?

And who, in god’s name, commits such a crime, stands, sees it and thinks, “Yeah, I’m just going to leave that there?”

Yes, I took a picture. (Mainly to confirm later that it was not some delirious fever dream, but that somebody actually left that baby on the shelf.) And the editorial staff here at 720-California-4th-floor-mens-room-dot-blogspot-dot-com debated long and hard about whether or not to include the photo along with this post.

But if we do that, the terrorist wins.

I don’t know who you are, first floor turd painter, but what you did was WRONG. This is not some art project and an office toilet seat is not a canvas for your fecal shenanigans.

Cut it out.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Cinnamon Urinal Cake

Hello, innovation!

The mens rooms at 720 California are enjoying a sweet new smell this week. Cinnamon urinal cakes.

It's like peeing into a bowl of Red Hots! So satisfying.

But be careful, men. For those of you who are more generously endowed, don't let your equipment dip down and make contact. Nobody wants a stick of Big Red in their urethra. (Trust me on this one.)

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!

It's been a long, long time since potty blogger has written, dear readers.

So long that I began to wonder if anything would make me take up my pen again. Writing about the dumps of co-workers is a one-way ticket to jaded-ville, friends. Once you've seen the after effects of somebody shooting from their northern anus, nothing really shocks or inspires anymore.

But something wonderful has happened on 3rd floor.

Somebody has introduced a squatty potty to the stall of last resort.

Let me repeat that: a co-worker has purchased a piece of equipment designed to help open his colon and then left that piece of equipment permanently in place for all of his co-workers to also use and enjoy.

That guy for president of the world!

Thank you for your gift. Thank you for giving me a reason to write again. But most of all, thank you for giving my poops a silky smooth road home.