Poop Machine.

My toilet is quite a joyous place.

The room, not the actual device...although it definitely plays its part.

A lot of men enjoy the solitude of the toilet, and appreciate a place in which to think, and I am no exception. I have become the cliche of the grumpy old man retreating off to the loo for half an hour with a newspaper under my arm. I'm lucky in that my girlfriend leaves an ever increasing stack of magazines in there, within which I can slip the odd motorcycling magazine, for my own pleasure. For some reason, I can't "commence", until I have found an article of interest, and am past at least the first paragraph. That, I believe is the definition of "anal retentive". So if you're a psychologist and you're reading this, please go read something else.

I like to think in there, and it strikes me how so very few people seem to like to think. Look around...there's a toilet roll holder. Which came first? The roll or the holder? And isn't it just crazy how if there is a holder in a toilet room, how most people ABSOLUTELY MUST put the roll on it, no matter how difficult the mechanism may be to navigate, or no matter where the genius who designed the room put the holder. I have mentioned before I once went to an architects house for dinner, and took him to task over the fact he put the roll holder next to the toilet- behind you! So you have to reach behind yourself just to get at the damned paper. That's not fair!

I have a similar setup at my place, so I just put rolls in front of me, and pretend the holder isn't there. Anarchic, I know.

But my housemate ABSOLUTELY MUST load up the roll holder anyway, because, well, she's obviously a contortionist.

I saw a pamphlet for Clinique skincare products on the stack of my girlfriends magazines in there today, and thought "I really should recycle that". So instead of doing that, I tore it in half, and realised I didn't care about recycling it at all. I just hated it. A very Merry Clinique Christmas to you, too.

Sometimes I am forced to look at my girlfriends magazines, and it makes me angry. Do the writers ever read themselves? Not sure they do.

Like the article in 'Madison' about a 14 year-old eccentrically-dressed fashion blogger, who doesn't like to give out interviews, because the kind of people who watch 'Good Morning America' and 'Oprah' are the last people she wants to communicate with. Madison had to quote a New York Times interview, because she wouldn't get back to them, either. So...they just admitted that the probable future editor of Vogue magazine thinks they're so shit, she won't even give them an interview?

Have a think, maybe.

And don't get me started on the picture of Ryan Reynolds in 'Famous' magazine that is actually Ryan Gosling. Even I know that, and I'm a hetero male. Although I have to be truthful and say the real reason I know is because my girlfriend made me watch 'The (stupid) Notebook'. And also the lyrics from the (awesome) 'Lonely Island' track "Lazy Sunday": "No doubt the bakery's got all the bomb frostings- I love those cupcakes like MacAdams loves Gosling!"

Maybe I should have just quoted that...

Some of my greatest ideas and inventions have occurred on the toilet, and you'd be well familiar with them, and maybe even have them in your own home, if it weren't for the fact you can't write on toilet paper. I'm thinking of buying an iPad just to record such outhouse inspirations. Also, because the toilet is the only room in the house worth installing one into.

I've kinda run out of things to say today, probably because I'm not on the toilet. I have a killer virus (it's an expression, not a fact), and I'm counting the minutes 'til I have to go do security for a big TV show, or do security for a big music venue, depending on which end of the building my boss sends me to.

Wish me luck.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.