Toilet Humour

Tue, 05/14/2013 - 10:15 — Compost Stu

The morning sunshine filters through the shade cloth east wall of my outside loo, warming the seat, reducing the rude awakening. Fire tail finches are fluttering about, stealing insect morsels from amongst the spiky Fingerlimes where they build their messy nests. I look across at the western galvanized iron toilet wall and read the old “directions for use” blurb I painted on years ago. It’s almost funny, in its sincere imploring of guests / wwoofers to use the facility as designed, with sawdust and lid closed. Since then I have installed a urinal for the girls, and discerning men…(some actually don’t piss on the grass?) and have a couple of great caricatures of a dog squatting on one side (complete with that guilty look) and cocking its hind leg happily and proudly on the other. It’s great practical use of toilet humour, and everyone gets the message. A bit of a laugh has everything moving nicely, all the better if it’s a belly laugh. A far cry from my experience yesterday of an Exeloo, Tweed Shires automated public loo systems that are clinical in their attempt to make one feel relaxed. Getting changed after sailing, I had to press a button to open a sliding door, much like an elevator. I felt like I was moving across into another dimension. Piped music filled the white tiled and stainless fitted interior, ceramic surfaces gleaming (some not so gleaming too!) back my reflection in the fleuro lit land of hygiene and necessity. My sterile alert went off, Urgghhh, I need to get out of here. Quickly getting changed, dancing into my shorts to the tunes so readily provided, I picked up my gear and headed back to the door. The button was pushed. Nothing happened. I pushed it again, still nothing. The music started to sound sinister. A quick moment of panic and a thought that this might be a fitting end for me, and I punched the hard stainless button with my thumb. The sound of the electric motor and sliding door was a relief. The real world opened up before me, and I lurched back into the sunlight. As the door slid closed automatically, I heard the toilet flushing itself behind me. This got me to thinking, how would one know if the flush had actually worked? An old toilet rhyme came to mind.
“There was a chap who took a bog, whose turd the toilet did clog, the offender remained hushed, cos it couldn’t be flushed, and left a great f#@%ing log. Please set an example and don’t leave your stool sample! “
How very embarrassing if your deposit never left the cashiers desk and the next unknowing victim of the Exeloo had to walk in and out the door half a dozen times to remove it from their projected landing site.
On a lighter note, I’d like to encourage readers to send in their favourite toilet graffiti, just for a laugh. We’ll print the best ones at the end of my article each month and draw a winner at the end of the year. The prize is $300 worth of consultancy by yours truly, to assist you with re-using all your by-products as wisely as possible.

Stuart owns Pooh Solutions, Compost toilets and consultancy.
For more info or 0427 897 496

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