Saturday, June 29, 2013

And Now, a Word From Our Protagonist

Hick strolled out of the bedroom yesterday morning in his tighty-whities, and plopped down on the living room long couch to rub lotion on his feet. He's not some dermatologically-obsessed metrosexual, nor a captive I keep in a well, urging to rub the lotion on his skin, lest he get the hose again. No, he's not even trying to pave the way for an athlete's-foot-free world. It's prescription foot medicine for aching feet. But that's not the story.

"You know how you're always writing about my antics? I never get to read them. You just ask me to sign off on them."

"I handed you a copy and said you could read it! And you said, 'Naw, that's okay' and shoved it back at me!"

"All right. I admit that you gave me a copy. But here's one for you. Even Genius saw where this one was going:

Remember when I went out east? We were in Boston, and I had to go to the bathroom. I went in, and couldn't get into a stall until I put a quarter in. I yanked out a handful of change and finally found a quarter. When I got through the door, that toilet was nasty. I took some toilet paper and cleaned it up. I threw the toilet paper in the toilet and flushed it. Then I turned around and dropped my pants to go to the bathroom. I had just sat down when the door opened. It wouldn't close without another quarter. I didn't have another quarter! I couldn't get up. I hollered for one of the guys on the trip with me. 'Bob! Put in a quarter!' He had one, or I would have been sitting there exposed while I took a dump."

"That's a really good story."

"Yeah. You oughta use that one."

Vanity, thy name is Hick.


  1. That's like going to Aldi's without a quarter for the cart rental. Rent a john! When I was a kid they had those at Famous Barr and I thought they were grossly unfair to people who didn't have a quarter and had to "go." Poor pooping Hick...or was it YOU?

  2. Yes, you need to write up that story right away and submit it to a new collection that's being developed.

    The anthology is called "Tales From the Toilet."

    Possible sections:

    I Flushed You From the Toilet of My Heart (Val, do you know who did this song without looking it up?)

    Do You Have a Square to Spare?

    Oops! I Got Completely Undressed to Use the Toilet

    Bathrooms Turned Biohazards

    Oh! I Can't Avoid Work Any Longer--My Butt is Numb

    Hick is sooo helpful...With assistance like that, you'll be up for a Pulitzer soon...

  3. One quarter is MY limit, whether people are watching or not.

  4. Pay toilets are EVIL. Tell Hick it WAS a good story. And hope those feet get better fast. (going off somewhere to try and remove image in my mind of a guy in tighties lotioning his feet now)

  5. Well it's clear from Hick's story about himself why he's concerned that you respect his delicate nature. That said, it was a good story - just when I thought pay toilets were as low as it's possible to go. Was flushing another quarter? Is that why he was obligated to clean up the mess first?

    And as for the foot story...I can't help but picture you chanting, "It puts the lotion on its feet" while serving Hick some chicken bones dangled from a bucket. Maybe for fun you could demand a quarter for bucket rental.

  6. Linda,
    Unfortunately, public pooping has its price. I would call you out and call you Madam for insinuating that the pooper was ME...but since you have seen Hick, have a picture of Hick, and will never be able to scrub this image from your mind, I will refrain.

    Sorry, Madam, I am not a toilet song maven. I am unfamiliar with that selection. As for your anthology, too bad there is not a section called "Shame of Thrones."

    Let's not polish the Pulitzer before it appears. That could bring bad luck. Maybe I should let Hick buy that Auction Meat, so more toilet tales would be forthcoming.

    Oh, like you've never desperately needed to use a pay toilet after drinking your dirty-water, no-alcohol Jersey cocktail!

    That's either very frugal or very exhibitionistic.

    Be glad you're not Linda with the permanently-scarred retinas.

    I will relay your approval to Hick, the tender hot-house flower. I don't understand the mechanics of these newfangled privies, but perhaps some low-life slithered under the door, did his business, did not flush, and slithered back out. Or simply walked in a wide-open door, didn't care about privacy, and cared even less about flushing.

    I fear that Hick might fill the bucket before sending it back up.

  7. Hick sounds like a hoot and has a fine sense of humor... and let's you write about to boot... oh, that could be a little poem.. hoot boot...

  8. Lynn,
    I ain't no poet, and I sure know it! Hick is, indeed, a hoot. However, he was born without a funny bone. I don't think his little pooping story was so much told in an effort to entertain as it was to garner sympathy for his quarterless plight, and ramp up awareness for public toilet injustice.