DTH Omnibus Page 3
Thursday September 10, 1992
Urinal fount of wisdom of ages and literary gems
n the spirit of those who
claim to see an impression
I I ofjesus'faceintheirrefrig
j erator, or witness their
neighbors' 5-year-old
daughter give birth to a small wolf
cub, or even consider strange symbols
mowed into their wheat fields alien
art, I offer the story of a single, routine
trip to the little boy's room that turned
into yet another vestige of supernatu
ral forces in motion.
This is a story of grand proportion
filled with harsh words that stab at
reality, twistingand manipulating the
very beings of our existence. The type
of story that makes "Little Red Riding
Hood" look like just another inno
cent, carbon copy tale of a young girl
sent by her mother with a basket of
goodies to visit her ailing grand
mother. No, my friends, I'm afraid my tale
is of the dark side of the human mind.
You see, while making a pit stop at
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hey're passing "hate,-,
speech" laws left and right,
saying you can't say this, -'
and you can't say that,"and " "
if you say this they'll put
your hiney in jail, and if you say that
they'll whip you with a wet noodle,
but I've got one nobody's thought of
yet. Basically I think you oughta be
able to say any goldurn thing you
wanna say, anywhere you wanna say
it.
However, I would support the
death penalty for anyone caught say
ing the following words:
"Company Policy."
Aren't you sick of this?
"Why can't I have my check to
day?" "Company policy."
"Why won't you pay for my mov
ing expenses?"
"Company policy."
"Why do I have to wait on a letter?
Why can't I meet with the supervisor
in person V
"Company policy."
Have you ever noticed that "com
pany policy" is another way of saying
"shut up," but the people who use it
think they're being polite?
Listen to me. There is no company
policy. Company Policy is what hap
pens when some Vice President of
Feminine Hygiene ProductsWestern
Division keeps getting letters from
women demanding their money back,
because, two hours after using the
company's product, their armpits turn
green. And so the guy gets sick of all
the letters, of having to call these
women on the phone and listen to
'em yell for three hours, and so he tells
some "customer service department"
that, from now on, it's Company
Policy that all complaints have to be
in writing. It's not Company Policy,
it's the Vice President of Feminine
Hygiene ProductsWestern Division
lying to you.
Another way it happens is when
the president of the company, who
has nothing to do but sit in his office
reading computer printouts all day,
k? 1 c$z
JIM RASH
your typical, run-of-the-mill "Eat here,
Get gas" truck depot, 1 was abruptly
introduced to the growing epidemic
of Urinal Graffiti Art.
As 1 stood there, relieving myself (or
in more gentle words "going tinkle"), I
became victim to the cruel, uncensored
words of a society gone wrong. Here I
was, face to face with the yellow pages
of the "90s. The scribblings of deranged
lunatics who find it necessary to tell you
to call them if you are lookingfor a good
time, or to go screw yourself, or even
alert you to the fact that they did your
a
JOE BOB BRIGGS
suddenly notices that the company is
paying out several thousand dollars a
month in "freelance day care ex
penses" baby-sitters. And, of course,
most baby-sitters don't give out re
ceipts, and so there's no way to know
if people actually paid the baby-sitter
what they claim, they paid the baby
sitter. And so the president says,
"Carol, come in here a minute." And
poor hapless Carol comes in with her
steno pad, and Mr. President says,
"Issue a memo that, from now on, we
won't reimburse baby-sitting expenses
unless the baby-sitter has been pre
approved by Personnel."
And then, four weeks down the
road, some lady at the company wants
to hire her regular baby-sitter, Suzy,
that she's been using for eight years,
and her supervisor says, "You can do
that, of course, but she's not been
cleared by Personnel as of today. So
we can't reimburse you for that."
And the lady says, "But we haven't
had time to get her approved. And
besides, you know this woman. She's
totally honest. I've been using her
forever. Why can't I use her again?"
And the answer is, of course, "Com
pany policy."
I'm gonna say this one more time,
because some of you out there don't
get it. When somebody, anybody, uses
the term "company policy" with you,
say, "Did you make this policy?"
When they say no, tell them you
want to speak to whoever made the
policy. When they don't know, tell
them you want to speak to their su
pervisor. Repeat the same questions with
the supervisor. Eventually, when you
talk to enough people, you will work
your way up the ladder to the office of
the person who actually made the
policy. When you explain the situa
tion, you might instantly be declared
."t i r 'r( . ,,,-.(
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mother.
But one phrase on that urinal wall
one simple, straight to the point,
no-holds-barred statement said it
all: the inspirational "Suck Me." So
often, I've found myself writing let
ters to old friends, but couldn't quite
find that wrap-it-all-up-type phrase
that lets my friends know that I'm
thinking about them and hope to see
them soon. Now, thanks to the gradu
ating class of Urinal Graffiti Art, with
confidence I can write my friends,
"Having a good time at college. The
weather is great. Wish you were here.
Suck me, Jim."
Plus, how can I forget all those late
nights of racking my brain over those
darn St. Patrick's Day limericks. Now,
thanks to "Suck Me," I've found yet
another word that rhymes with"luck."
I've often been convinced that if
all those who have ever blessed a
bathroom wall with their "Suck Me"
literature were to rise up and join
an exception to the policy. Because
the person that makes the policy is
also the only person who knows what
a crock the policy is.
Isn't Corporate America great?
I'm not kidding. It's gonna take
the Death Penalty.
Ask me if I'm happy about this.
Speaking of things I am happy
about, Andy and Arlene Sidaris are
at it again. The husband and wife
team that makes the world's greatest
pictures about undercover federal
agent Playboy Playmates running
around Hawaiian islands firing ex
tremely large guns and discussing their
assignments in a hot tub have just
come out with the best one yet
Hard Hunted. As the poster says,
"Someone will not get out of this
alive!"
This is the seventh sequel in the
Sidaris series of guns-and-hooters
flicks that started with Malibu Ex
press, meaning that they're actually
approaching their stated goal of be
ing a more successful series than James
Bond. And to further that goal, they
hired R.J. Moore, son of Roger Moore,
to star in Hard Hunted. Unfortunately,
nobody told Andy that Roger Moore
was the hero of the James Bond mov
ies he was, in fact, James Bond
and so he hired R.J. to be the sleazoid
international criminal who rides
around in his yacht having kinky sex
and ordering people murdered (a job
handled in previous Sidaris movies
by Pat Morita).
Anyhow, what we've got here is
that old story of the voyeur yachtsman
who steals a Klystron Relay nuclear
trigger that's concealed in the body of
a small jade Buddha that looks like a
piece of soap, but he doesn't realize
that his personal harem is really made
up of undercover federal agents (and
I do mean undercover) who are re
porting to radio sex-show hostess Ava
Cadell, who always wears leopard
skin Spandex in the broadcast booth
and is served coffee by the lovely
Becky Mullen, who waits in the hot
tub between coffee breaks (this is
together, they could successfully stage
and execute a world-wide revolution.
Billboards and newspapers would dis
play their "Suck Me Across America"
campaign. Or in the footsteps of N ike,
magazine ads would read, "Just suck
me.
In order to understand the men
tality of these people of verse, we
must first glance at the several stages
throught which a Urinal Graffiti Art
ist progresses in order that they may
obtain "Suck Me" status. First, there's
the novice or Virgin ofLavatory Verse.
These are the ones who find it neces
sary to alert you to the fact that they
were there on such and such date. In
other words, as you park it on the
porcelain god, you can rest at ease in
knowing that "John Doe was here
January 19, 1991."
The next stage involves becoming
a Urinal Critic. These are the ones
who maim or deface an original artist's
work by scribbling out a letter here or
Andy's feminist statement), and
sometimes waves at next-door-neighbor
night-club owner Cynthia
Brimhall, who sings "Another Day in
Paradise" when not seating her regu
lar customers, and everything is just
hunky dory until the jade gets stolen,
the Pentagon gets worried, and crack
Playboy Playmate agents Dona Speir
and Roberta Vasquez are forced to fly
to Sedona, Ariz., and do deadly battle
with a mini-Black Thunder helicop
ter equipped with rockets and flown
by a mad Asian named Raven, but
then they all go back to Hawaii, where
Dona is kidnapped, then she blows up
a plane, then she hits her head on a
rock and is captured by smugglers, but
she has amnesia, and meanwhile a lot
of people get blown up and a lot of
people aardvark on the beach, and ...
well, as usual, Andy has way too much
plot getting in the way of the story, so
let me put it this way:
Cleavage and explosives.
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a word there and transforming it into
something completely different. (For
example: Let's just say that in the case
of "Suck Me," the letter "L" would
not be the likely candidate when look
ing for an alternative to "S".)
But, for the critic, an even more
popular activity is to draw a line from
the original artist's work to a sub
section of the wall where they may
post a rebuttal. (For example: Origi
nal artist: "Suck Me." Critic: "Suck
Me? Suck you!") As you can see, the
critic is just as verbal and creative as
the artist.
I'll admit that I've been known to
write my number in a stall or two, or
maybe a little risque note like, "I'm
not wearing any underwear right now.
How about your But, that's it. Noth
ing else.
So.toall youdie-hardUrinalGraf-fiti
Artists, the next time you make a
trip to the restroom, be original and
take along a thesaurus.
Andy and Arlene promise. Andy
and Arlene deliver.
They've created their own cat
egory of movie.
Twenty-two breasts. Eleven dead
bodies. One motor vehicle chase.
Copter attack, with explosions. Mul
tiple aard varking. Exploding airplane.
Gratuitous hot-tub breaks. Kung fu.
Bimbo fu. Drive-In Academy Award
nominations for Ava Cadell and her
two Cadells, for broadcasting in a
leopard-skin bikini; R.J. Moore, as
the sleazoid criminal, for saying "Looks
like we've got company"; and Dona
Speir, the original Donna Hamilton,
reprising her role for half the movie
but is such a great actress that you
can't tell when she has amnesia and
when she doesn't have amnesia, for
thrusting a machete through a double
agent's chest and saying "We were
never lovers! I faked an orgasm!"
Four stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
wmstxmonrnsau
of Arts and Sciences