When I think about toilet seats I get nauseous, especially public ones.
Just the thought of sitting where everyone else has sat is disgusting to me.
Restrooms in general gross me out–the sink, the door knob, everything.
I went to a small private school in high school and the only restroom the boys had was this really small, dark hole in the hall and the only reason anyone would ever use it was because they had to.
It was lit by the light of a 40 watt bulb and for some reason it always smelled like Pine Sol and mothballs–it was weird.
Anyway, I didn’t really have any friends in high school, so many times during the day I would just go in there and hang out for long periods of time waiting until the school day was over.
One time one of the guys in my class got suspicious and pointed out that I was spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom, but I just pretended like I wasn’t feeling well and he let it go.
After school every day I’d usually just go home and watch something on TV until bedtime. A couple of years later I graduated, went to college and that pretty much brings us all up to speed I think.
If you want to find your soulmate you need to stop looking. Learn to be by yourself. Invest in yourself. And then when your least expecting it…well…you probably still won’t find your soulmate, but at least you’ll stop annoying the bejesus out of all of your friends.
I want to start my own very special environmental group. It’ll basically consists of just me growing marijuana in my closet. And then when the cops come and arrest me I’ll just tell them that I was going “going green”. But that won’t work and they’ll just take me to prison where I’ll spend several years of my life.
Eventually celebrities and noted politicians will start a grass roots movement that will free me from prison.
Then, when I’m released I’ll write a book about my experiences and make lots of money, but there will always be this emptiness deep down inside of me because no matter how much money you make or have much fame you achieve nothing can take away the simple joy of illegally growing marijuana.
If I could I’d have my own private island and I’d call it “Marijuana Island,” but I wouldn’t have any marijuana on it and when the cops invaded and searched the place all they’d find was an orphanage for disadvantaged Haitian children. They wouldn’t find any marijuana on the entire island because I personally constructed Marijuana Island just for little Haitian orphans (the name of the island has no connection to what’s on the island because marijuana would be strictly forbidden on Marijuana Island). And as the cops left Marijuana Island in disgrace I’d be watching from my second, secret island called “Orphan Island”, where marijuana is always allowed.