with Barry Dingle
Baja Fresh is not my favorite place to murder a brown snake -- that I will admit. But sometimes, you have too much coffee and you need to make room for a veggie quesadilla. And of course, there's nothing to read except the Tapatio or sugar packets. Not to worry because after my most recent visit, I found the Baja Fresh restroom to be a silent classroom for urban psychology in the twenty-first century.
There was tagging on the toilet seat, good old sweet scratch graffitti. Why? WHY? You're leaving your stench and urine stains on the floor. Isn't that territorial enough? How about you just make an acid stain of your penis? At least that's funny.
What is the motivation? Are you hoping that people who don't use the paper ass gaskets will stand up and have your "symbol" imprinted on their butt cheeks? I mean, think about the effort it takes. You have to already be in the bathroom, doing something bathroomy. Then you have to decide to etch your name or some kind of design. Then you have to find an artistic object. Then you have to get entirely too close to a place where people shit out day old waste that has traveled six or seven stories of intestine. And then you have to put the keys back in your pocket and handle them later.
Honestly, I want to castrate you with a dull X-Acto knife and dip the open wound in a vat of AIDS. But I would be just as happy burying your face in a smorgasbord of old man asses after they run a 10K.
Write a play, you turd burglars. Or something that doesn't completely expose the lack of sense and cleverness in your small peanut-sized head that should be Woody Woodpeckered with dicks (or vaginas if you're a homosexual). Idiots.