Hicksville, NY

So I’m on the toilet reading The Bathroom LOL Book. Yes, it’s a real book. Published by Red-Letter Press. In New Jersey. You think I’d make something like that up?

You think I want to lead off a blog with that literary reference? Hell no. I’d rather act all pretentious and have you believe I read Walt Whitman on the can but I don’t. Hell, chances are that half the people that started this have already stopped reading after seeing The Bathroom LOL Book… or New Jersey.

So I’m on the toilet reading The Bathroom LOL Book and there’s this mention of a Hicksville, NY man who was charged with petty larceny after a pet store checkout girl hears chirping coming from his pants and realizes that he is trying to steal 2 lovebirds. The book thinks this is funny and ends by saying the man was put behind bars for this botched robbery attempt.

And suddenly I’m miles away. Maybe hovering over a pet store in Hicksfuckingville, NY. I’m not sure. All I’m certain of is that these 2 birds were put back behind bars. The story doesn’t say what happened to these young lovebirds, you’re left to assume that after what can only be imagined as a terrifying yet exhilarating experience for them they were returned again to the small cage that they called home. Did they wonder as it was happening if the person stuffing them down the front of their pants was some sort of hero there to rescue them? If so, did they also wonder why the escape plan had to involve being pressed against (and I’m guessing a bit here based on how I react under pressure) sweaty genitalia? Whatever discomfort these 2 had to endure I’m sure they were still dizzy with the anticipation of finally leaving the store and setting off on some brand new adventure.

Maybe that’s what the chirping was about. Or it could have been when one of them got a beakful of hairy ballsack… but I prefer the idea that they could no longer contain their joy and had to burst forth in song.

Which landed them right back in the small wire cage where they began. I can only hope they both chirped and it wasn’t just one of them because then there would always be that tension between them. The one lovebird glaring silently at the other one glaringly.

The irony of the story had my sitting on the toilet long after my business was done. You know when you’ve been there too long because your ass starts to ache a bit. The toilet was not made for long-term reading comfort. Gravity is doing its best to cram your body down the hole in the seat. It might not feel like it but don’t kid yourself, that’s what it’s goal is. If it had its way you’d suddenly splash down in the water without realizing what happened.

But I couldn’t get up. I had suddenly remembered part of a poem from the aforementioned Walt Whitman… “To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports”. Do these lovebirds (did it have to be lovebirds?) look out through the bars and understand these words better than the man who shoved them down his pants and is now enjoying the same view? Or you and me?

I close my eyes and pretend the toilet is a big rig and I’m plunging through the inky blackness somewhere in Illinois. Of COURSE I could have said driving at night but given the choice wouldn’t you rather plunge through inky blackness than drive at night? And while you’re complaining why not ask me why Illinois rather than Nebraska if what I’m going for is long stretches of flat without any lights that would break the illusion of sea travel?

Or the Atlantic Ocean for that matter. Clearly the quote is referencing the ocean travel. Sailor? Hello? Well, truth is I get seasick pretty easily so the best I can do is sit on the toilet and pretend I’m a long-haul trucker and truck stops are my ports. As far as why Illinois… that would be none of your business.

Either way, when I open my eyes again I’m sitting on a toilet in my house. Given the lifespan of lovebirds I’m guessing that both of the birds from the story are long dead and the would-be birdnapper is probably out of jail and thinking of his next big heist.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t get seasick. “O, to sail to sea in a ship! To leave this steady, unendurable land! To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the houses; To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship, To sail, and sail, and sail!” But I do and even repeating the word sail so many times in my heads gets me a bit queasy.

I steady myself as I stand and start the business of wiping.