Foo-foo toilet seats and covers are evil!
Men of the world, beware, a global danger is threatening to undermine our manhood and strip of us whatever dignity we as a gender still possess. This heinous evil is sweeping the land like a voracious herd of locusts from biblical times.
Oh, I know what you are thinking. Another nutcase using his knowledge of HTML to spread yet another wacko conspiracy theory on the web. Wrong! This is a serious threat.
Back in 1989 Dr. Richard U. Renate noticed that he was seeing an inordinate number of men coming into his office with penile damage. Cuts, bruises, abrasions and contusions of the male genetalia were becoming commonplace. This confounded the good Dr. because when he would ask about the cause of the damage he would be met with silence and blushing faces.
Dr. Dick, being the consumate professional, convened a conference in Bermuda to announce his finding to the entire medical community. When the guffaws subsided to scattered snickering he called upon the medical profession to seek answers to this spreading problem.
A blue ribbon panel was commissioned to look into this problem. The researchers ran into the same wall of silence when they questioned the afflicted men. Finally, they found a few victims of this scourge willing to undergo hypnotic regression therapy.
Under hypnosis these men broke down and admitted that their toilet seats, formerly a source of comfort and stability, had become lethal weapons. They described horrible accidents where their toilet seats fell on their penises.
This puzzled the researchers. Why would toilet seats suddenly begin falling on men as they urinated? Seismologists were consulted to see if global Earth changes could be the cause. Meteorologists were brought it to rule out atmospheric factors. A fringe faction even consulted with psychics and witch doctors. None of these produced any tangible results. As a last resort, a field expedition was organized.
They began visiting the locations where these accidents occured. After the 7,976th expedition they began to notice a pattern. Every toilet they saw was either a foo-foo (technical medical term pronounce foo-foo) padded seat or had a foo-foo seat cover on it. After years of expensive, government sponsored testing it was discovered that adding thickness and fluff to the funcional seats threw off the delicate balance of the precision equipment.
Solving this mystery produced much joy in the scientific community and was the cause of much back patting and many backroom nitrous parties in major hospitals and research facilities. But in my mind, the mystery was only beginning.
What baffles me is why women insist on dressing up their toilets. A toilet is a modern marvel of technology, functionality and beauty. It's sleek lines hide it's amazingly clever function as a waste removal device. What need is there to cover the seat with anything?
Do they make the toilet more attractive? Do people look at the cover and then wonder what could be hiding under it, thereby fooling them into thinking that the lady of the house never makes mud? Do the toilets feel better about themselves due to the adornments? Maybe, but I don't think so.
My take on the matter is that women are taking revenge for years of inequality built into the system by centuries of anal retentive men and mouth breathing, chest beating neanderthals. Due to these throwbacks we are all being made to suffer.
All over the world women are adding padded (foo-foo) toilet seats and lid cozies to their commodes. Then they wait. Their boyfriends, sons and husbands unsuspectingly enter the bathroom to get rid of one too many colas, coffees or beers. The women then stand outside of the door and listen. First there is the usual sound of water hitting water and maybe an occasional grunt of satisfaction. Then just as the man begins to feel secure and content...WHAM! The lid falls down.
Even if he escapes physical injury, he now must suffer the indignity of scrubbing urine off of seat, floor and walls. Not to mention his embarrassment at opening the door to go change his soaked pants and finding his giggling wife standing in the hall.
This problem must be dealt with soon. The moral fabric of our society is unravelling faster than Marv Alpert's career. This must be addressed now. I suggest that all of the men in the world get together with all of the women in the world and listen to their demands. After careful negotions we must give them exactly what they want, when they want it. Either that or we could learn to sit down to pee. It's your choice.
Oh, and if you see my wife, I'd appreciate it if this was our little secret. Okay?
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