There are some gross people in this country. And by some, I mean millions. The ACLU requires that I not use the word gross. They advocate the more politically correct “clean-challenged”. Although I always try to do what the ACLU thinks is best for me and those around me, I’m tossing my cookies to the wind and calling a nasty a nasty. They are gross.
Let the law suits begin.
No matter where you are when reading this, you either personally know or have been in some way affected by a gross person. If you are not aware of any grossness among your family, friends or co-workers, that is a clear indicator that you yourself are gross.
Normally I require gross people first boil themselves in a combination of Clorox and Peroxide before continuing to read anything I’ve written, but because I think you could learn something from my insight, I will allow you to stick around until the end. Just be sure you don’t touch my picture.
Those of you who are not gross know exactly what I’m talking about.
Walk into any public restroom in America and you often have to ask yourself whether you may have accidentally wandered into the one reserved for “Big Dirty Poop Throwing Guerillas”. The level of nasty in our nation’s public potty spaces is simply unspeakable.
Allow me to try and speak it anyway.
The very first thing you see when entering one of these places is that the trash cans are overflowing with wet, brown, paper towels. To the untrained eye that would indicate a great many people who have passed through that room have paused to wash their hands and are therefore good and decent Americans who understand that cleanliness is next to godliness.
Only terrorists use the bathroom without washing their hands after.
Upon further investigation, however, one will find that is not the case. Anyone who cannot master the intricate mechanics of flushing a toilet does not possess the fine motor skills necessary to rub their hands together in a back and forth motion.
So where do all those wet towels come from? My OCD factory second brain will not allow me to even contemplate why all that paper is wet if not a byproduct of hand washing.
I guess I could contemplate it if I really wanted to, but then I’d have to turn the light off and on like a hundred times while repeating the word “Crayola” or else the Nigerian Prime Minister would die and it would totally be my fault. I don’t have that kind of time tonight and besides, Junichiro Koizumi is probably a pretty nice guy with a lot of living left to do.
Ghastly as gross people make our bathrooms, there is even worse floating around out there.
The other day I was at Wal-Mart during one of my daily pilgrimages and I grabbed what I know as a buggy, but you people probably call a cart. I don’t like using them because they are germy, but because I am building a Diet Pepsi fort, they are a necessity.
The idea of putting my hands where so many other people have had theirs makes me cringe. (For those of you keeping score at home, that’s also reason #475 why I’m not still married to my first husband.)
So I put my hand on the bar to push it and I feel something so gross, even now as I write I am working to suppress my gag reflex.
There on MY cart, touching the OCD Chick herself, was so much snot I looked up to be sure aliens weren’t clinging to the ceiling, dripping their snotty alien slime all over Wal-Mart.
First of all, if you are even close to capable of producing that much mucus, you are seriously ill, most definitely contagious and should be in a hospital where medical professionals wear masks and only touch you with tongs.
And second, if some bizarre and unexpected allergic reaction occurs while you are shopping for Red Vines and a shower mat rendering you absolutely incapable of stopping the gale force sneeze that shoots that brand of nasty out of an orifice, NORMAL PEOPLE WOULD CLEAN IT UP.
So here’s what I’m saying. If you are gross, you need to stop going outside your house. Ever.
More importantly, if there is the smallest chance you might be gross, like if your Dad is gross but your Mom isn’t and you aren’t sure if the gross gene was passed onto you, DO NOT procreate. No babies for you. America cannot take that chance.
If you find you are somehow lucky enough to talk a drunken person into being near your private grossness and the potential for fertilization of a gross embryo is even remotely possible, please do the right thing… the American thing… and use a condom. A giant, industrial strength condom.
Which I’m sure I should mention, you should dispose of properly. Oh, and wash your hands after.
I miss my friend today. I'm not sure why. It feels like he still comes and goes in my head sort of whenever he wants.
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