After a near battle of the sexes (AKA, the ultra familiar dunn bros versus the swaggarific caribou) Christina and I settled ourselves at a table in the very back of the Swaggahouse. Sure it had privacy (so we could totes make out without drawing too much attention) but the downside was that it was seated directly opposite the men's bathroom. Upon resting my eyes on the stick-figure's lack of skirt, I realized we were in for it.
Sure enough, after the third man used the restroom, I was pretty tired of the routine---afterall, Stina and I had to get ow' mack on! But then something really, really strange happened as the man who was whistling when he went into the restroom, didn't come out. Normally, seeing as they get to stand up to pee, it doesn't take men too long to use the restroom. But for some reason, it took this guy an awful amount of time, and naturally, this gave us the giggles. What was he doing in there for so long... Then even more time passed and it started to become less funny. Thoughts were racin,' wheels were turnin', time was a-wastin'. Finally, we came to the rightful conclusion that the man had died on the toilet, and that it was our civic duty to help him. But how awkward would that be if he actually hadn't died? So we kept putting it off.
10 minutes later we still hadn't assisted the poor guy in what had to be a very lonesome, pathetic death. I know I personally was very close to helping him, when some very large dude waltzed right up to the door and opened it without pause. I peered inside---and sure enough, not a soul was in there.
So it turns out we didn't prolong anybody's descent into death after all. Hmm.
1 comment:
Couldn't have said it better myself.
I liked:
- Swaggahouse
I didn't like:
- totes
Yeah right:
- "I personally was very close to helping him"
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