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the portable henry rollins
2001-08-03-11:28 a.m.
Yeah, well things are going good. No good luck or anything, but I'm still plugging along, making things better for myself. In the absence of any passion or despair, I'm left only with amusement for today. I'm reading "The Portable Henry Rollins" right now, sort of a greatest hits from his last decade of books. One passage in here stood out, it's just funny and while exaggerated, still true. Here ya go: I was in a men's room at one of those big gas-rest-food stops. At the urinal I saw six men pull down their zippers and pull out their cocks almost simultaneously. It was fantastic, like a firing squad, or like some sort of secret Masonic pud-grab ritual. Men act differently in the men's room. They don't talk much, and if they do, it's real loud as if to say, "Hey, I'm not afraid to talk in the men's room!" They act very manly in the men's room lest someone think they are gay. There are no weaklings in the mens room! We are in the men's room. We have our cocks in our hands. We are urinating our way. Right. A man who is henpecked and owned by his wife or girlfriend transforms into a virutal bedrock of masculinity up on entering the men's room. It's a temporary club, where men, united by a need to urinate, are men. Fuck it's friday man, that's it for me, no more thinking, the weekend awaits... -- Ronnie
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