Wednesday, August 29, 2007

It's Stories Like This That Make Me Glad That I Never Had to Scratch My Foot While Pooping at the Airport

By now, you all have heard about the frisky senator who was cruising for some man meat in a restroom at MSP International, only to find himself collared by an airport policeman who had drawn the worst assignment ever. Oh sure, the moonbats (whom I hold responsible for the 35W bridge collapse) have gone into full-on masturbation mode over this one because a) it presents a chance for their next rancid Idaho senate candidate to haul in more than 30% of the vote; and 3) it provides one of the few opportunities to feel superior by playing the hypocrisy card. Never mind that if you were to ever blindly accuse any of them for cruising for a little brown pole hairy butt action in a public john, you'd have a really good chance of either 1) being accurate; and d) being labeled a "homophobe" or worse.

Yes, hypocrisy can truly be a double-edged slur sometimes. But I'm not here to write about that today. There is a very important aspect that has been unaddressed in this whole media maelstrom:

How does one go about having sex between bathroom stalls? And how is it done in a way that's calculated (successfully or not) to be undetectable by innocent bypoopers?

According to what we can glean from police documents, there's a well-established regime of nonverbal signals employed to let your putative paramour in the neighboring stall know your intentions; things like touching your foot, tapping your toes, etc. And thus we have the title of our post today.

[NOTE: The following paragraphs employ contract law jargon to avoid attracting perverted googlers.]

But here's where the blind area comes in. What happens when the two parties involved have an "agreement" in "terms"? How do they go about "executing" the "contract?"

I mean, the bottoms of the stall walls only clear the floor by about a foot. How does the Party of the First Part access the equipment of the Party of the Second Part? Only a dwarf could get his mack on by kneeling. Can the toilet paper dispenser be moved, revealing some sort of improvised glory "loop" hole? Or does one merely shimmy under the wall into his partner's stall?

If the dead tree media wishes to stay relevant, these are the kinds of questions its reporters need to answer. I'll be flying again in September, and I'd like to not have to take a can of mace into the loo with me if I find myself having to plop a stinky. You never know when your foot might itch.

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