I will never go into my workplace’s bathroom afterhours alone ever again.

Our bathrooms are rigged with a timed, motion sensor light.  So when no one enters the bathroom for over 30 minutes, the lights turn off.  Unfortunately, while the lights are out, all the cockroaches begin to party.  And these are not the little finger-size roaches … these bad boys are slightly smaller than that ugly mo-fo on Men in Black.

Last night I opened the door, the lights flickered on and I walked to the line of stalls.  When I opened the door, I saw one sitting on the toilet reading a newspaper and munching on a Coke can.  I said, “sorry”, excused myself and shut the door to go to another stall.  But barf-face jumped out at me and pounced on me like a cat on a mouse.

His breath was foul and I could see the germs crawling on him.  I knew I would need to detoxify myself after this encounter.  I managed to kick him in the leg while I yelled at the top of my lungs.  Luckily for me, someone came dashing in with a can of Raid and began spraying the stuff in his eyes.  He leaped off and dove into the drain hole.

Now whenever I use the workplace restroom, I take a can of Roach Killer.

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I honestly don’t know how I got them.  I am a clean person … regular showers, clean clothes every day, I wash my hands … I’m clean except for those ogre toenails.

Several of my toenails have some sort of fungus ailment.  My big toenails have ridges like Ruffles and are a dirty pearly white.  My pinky toes are thick.  When I clip my pinky toenails, it’s like cutting cheese.

On the bright side, I’ve been able to sell my toenails to a local witch.  She uses them regularly in her brews.

I visited my doctor about this ailment.  When I took my shoes off and then peeled away my socks, she clapped her hand over he mouth and gasped in horror.

“My heavens!  How long have your toenails been like that?”

“About 10 years.”

She took a few samples to diagnose the fungus.

A few days later, I was reading the newspaper when I came across an article entitled “Medical Office Shut Down by Fungus”  Upon further reading, I learned that the lab had been overcome with an aggressive fungus.  The technician was doing late evening work on toenail clippings when the sample unexpectedly began growing exponentially.  By the next day, the fungus had overtaken the entire office.

The day after that, two federal agents in bio-suits and masks knocked on my door.  I’m finally going to get my toenails cured.

Some of the profoundest questions are asked while in a bathroom.

Today, while relieving myself in the men’s restroom at work, I noticed the wall in front of me and the one to the side were speckled with dead boogers.  The profound question: How in the hell did those get there?

I can fathom how boogers died on the wall to the left of me … some redneck was wizzing, reached up with one of his hands, placed it on his right nostril and blew like the March wind.  The velocity of the booger would have killed it on impact, splattering its guts all over the wall.  But how about those dead boogers on the wall in front of me?

Did the urinator toss his head back as far as it could go, place a finger on one nostril and blow?  Wouldn’t he miss the urinal and splatter on himself?  Look at me … I’m worrying about a “civilized” human leaking on himself in an attempt to blow a booger on the wall.

Now to the more profound question: are there people who are completely unaware of tissue paper?  Has the thought ever occured in their Cro-Magnon heads that toilet paper has more than one use?  Well, perhaps they don’t use toilet paper … eeeww!

Alas, the reality of the situation is that there probably exists a booger caper in our building.  The crime does not involved robbery of material possession, rather dignity.  You see, dead boogers are not only showing up in the men’s bathrooms, but they also litter the walls of the stairwell; the walls of our conference rooms and hallways.  Somewhere in the dark and lonely parts of our building exists a criminal who intentially spreads disease and sickness throughout our corridors when no one is watching.

What has our society come to?  This and other questions sometimes keep me awake at night.

My wife and I have young kids … ages 1 to 7.  We attend a church and our meetings last for three hours.  Every church meeting is an adventure with kids.

Since the kids have to appear clean and presentable to everyone else, my wife takes it upon herself to ensure that each child’s face is spot-free.  She continues the great tradition of The Lick.  You all know what The Lick is.  A kid has a smidge of peanut butter on his left cheek.  This is such a small thing to take him to the bathroom to properly wash him with water and soap.  So my wife applies the quick-fix-it-up Lick.

She sticks out her moistened tongue, places her thumb on the back of the tongue and applies an ample amount of saliva to the thumb.  Then the saliva-thumb is used as a cleansing tool on the toddler’s cheek.  If there is enough saliva, one swipe will suffice.  But if she failed to moisten her tongue with copius amounts of spittle, then another swipe of thumb on tongue will be necessary.

The Lick is not only used for smudges on cheeks.  It can be used to tame unruly hair or to remove eye boogers.  Any food or ink marking on the body can be cleaned via The Lick.

Of course The Lick is perfectly sanitary.  Purrell and other hand-sanitizers are weak compared to Mom’s spit (momspit for short).  Momspit is the emergency cure-all.  Paper cut: put momspit on it.  Bruised eye: apply momspit.  Blow to the head: momspit will do.  Severed toe: momspit.

Momspit comes in various flavors and smells.  If Mom brushed her teeth that morning, you might get a hint of mint.  If she didn’t brush her teeth, the kid might be an outcast the rest of the day.  The best flavor is when Mom is chewing gum.  Your hair might smell like Doublemint.

My three-year-old son got The Lick of momspit yesterday.  He was offended.  But he’s a smart kid and knows how to hit back.  He retaliated by grabbing an unused tampon from my wife’s purse and started waving it over his head showing everyone in the audience that my wife uses Playtex.

She grabbed the tampon and gave him another dose of momspit.

Poor kid.

Like me, you may have heard this story reported on the news while driving into work this morning.  As funny as it is, the real kicker of the story was that the owner retrieved the money after the dog “processed” it.  The owner then washed the cash and took it to a bank to trade in the soiled bills for new ones!  WOW!

First of all, if my dog did that, I’m not sure I’d be the one to retrieve the bills.  I would call the neighborhood kids over to my back yard for an impromptu Easter egg hunt.  “For every $100 you find, you can keep $1”  This way I only lose about $10 and I don’t have to experience dry heaves.  As a bonus to the kids, I would give them each a clothes-pin.

The next step in the process would be a bit tricky.  I’d probably put the cash in a big bucket on the lawn and then use the garden hose to blast the excess stuff off.  Then I’d let it dry in the sun.  Maybe the sun would bleach most of “it” out.

Phase three would involve generous amounts of Febreze followed by another sun-bleaching.

The final part would be to take it to the bank for exchange.

“My these bills smell fresh!  What happened to them?”

“My son got a hold of the Febreze and sprayed it all over my wife’s purse.  Those crazy kids!”

The teller would be rubbing her nose all over the bills like those freaks in the Febreze commercials.  I’d be wincing knowing full well that just four steps ago, those bills were being pinched off by Barney the dog.

“We can certainly exchange these bills for you Mr. Apollo.  Would you like your bills in 50’s or 100’s?”

“100’s would be fine, thank you!”

Another part of this dog-eats-cash story is how it was reported by the news.  After I heard it on the radio this morning, I went to Google’s news pages and searched for it.

Dog Eats Cash News Reports

How come all these reports suggest differing amounts?  How hard is it to count?  Was it the woman who had no idea how much money the mutt ate or was it the bank that didn’t know how much money it exchanged?  Maybe the teller was totally grossed out by the story behind the cash that she just took the tainted money and threw a few $100 bills at the woman … “Here, take these and go please!”  The teller then takes the bag out back in the alley to burn.

Or maybe the reporters were just so lazy to follow up on the amount that they just arbitrarily picked a number.  “What the hell – let’s say it was around $752.35”  One report actually headlined the story referring to $1000 while in the report it stated $750!

I just hope all these people washed their hands and then soaked them in Purell.

Maybe it was my Dad’s upbringing and how his parents survived the flu epidemic of 1918, but he’s a germ-o-phob (is that how you spell it?)  My wife freaks out about germs too.  So maybe all of this has rubbed off on me … maybe I’ve been infected.

Today was the day the germ broke this office-worker’s back.  There is this man who works at my office who doesn’t wash his hands.  He has a mullet, a beard, wears those ugly brown loafers with the tassels and he doesn’t sport a belt.  To finish off his ensemble, he coolly wears a gold braclet and necklace.  This guy is really cool.  He belongs in Nashville singing on Yee Haw.

I’ve been in the bathroom for number one when he walks in.  I finish first and then wash my hands with steamy hot water and lots of soap.  My hands are so clean, I’m prepped for surgury.  While I’m drying my hands, this perv nonchalantly walks past me, pauses in front of the mirror to admire his mullet and then exits the bathroom!  What the hell!?

Plastered on the mirror are signs urging people to wash their grimy hands.

He’s the reason why I carry my paper towel with me all the way back to my desk.  There’s no way on earth that I’m going to touch the doorknob this hobo defiled.  His hand was touching his junk; his hand then touched the doorknob, therefore his junk is all over the doorknob.

As bad as an offense he committed without washing after number one; it was nothing compared to the total disregard of the strict rule of washing after number two.  Yep, that’s right.  Today while steaming up the mirror with scalding hot water and scrubbing the skin off my hands, I watched Mullet-Man egress a stall and walk right past the sinks!  Just as he was about touch the door handle, I yelled out, “HALT YOU DIRTY BASTARD!!”

He was caught off guard a bit.  The water was still running; he was looking at me with his brown-smudged hand inches from the steel bar of the door.  It was a show-down at the OK Corral Bathroom.  “You get your smutty hands back in here right now and wash em!”

“Oh yeah?  What you gonna do if I don’t?” he smirked back.

“I will get on the public announcement system and tell the whole damn company that ol-dirty-dick-hands left the bathroom without washing.  You’ll be an outcast.”

He replied, “I dare you.”

“Touch that door handle and I will.”

His eyes met my eyes.  Steam was filling the bathroom.  A bead of sweat emerged from his forehead and rolled down his face.  I was as calm as a hot summer day in Texas.  Both of us were waiting for the other to draw.

“You ain’t gonna do it” and then he pulled the handle and walked out.

I shut the water off, dried my hands and then proceeded to the PA phone to make an annoucement.

“Attention.  May I have your attention.  Billy Ray Roberts has just been to the little-boy’s room to make a deposit.  He left the bathroom without even glancing at the sink.  His hands are highly contagious.  If he comes to your office, get out the Lysol.  Thank you!”

The rest of the day, my co-workers avoided Billy Ray like the plague.  He was an outcast and shunned from all social contact.

Today, my fellow germ-o-phobes, we have taken a step closer to a cleaner world.