with Barry Dingle
Let's talk about automatic urinals, shall we? I love the idea. It's very twenty-first century. I mean, hey, why shouldn't we have egg-shaped pee guzzlers that automatically swallow? If only every golden shower were so easy.
I may be a vegetarian but I have beef with these automated machines. First of all, sometimes they don't flush and that's troubling. I start to think, "Am I invisible?" "Am I dead?" "Am I a ghost like in that movie Ghost?" Yes, I know, I'm supposed to chalk it up to the imperfection of man-made technology but when a bucket that holds your bodily waste fails to acknowledge your existence, that's when the depression sets in.
The worst is when you're in a stall and you hear one of the urinals flush even though no one else is in the bathroom. That's when the panic attacks set in. Are there ghosts in there? I'm petrified of ghosts. I don't even like the movie Ghost. Why are they at the urinal? They're dead. They don't urinate. Then my mind wanders incessantly and I forget to wipe. Fast-forward two hours and I'm itchy and searching for the mystical shit scent that seems to be everywhere in the office.
Forget the "No Smoking" signs in the bathrooms. Let's rally together and put up a "No Ghosts" sign. Then we can all piss and shit without fear of the dead.