Wash those hands! Please! I beg you in the name of all that you hold dear!
I think the blame for this should be laid squarely at the doorfront of people’s parents. Grown up men (and possibly women – I can’t tell since I am not permitted “next door” for obvious reasons) finish using the toilet, zip up and just head out the door! And the only thing I can think of is pity the unfortunate bas***ds he is going to shake hands with and f**k the bas***d himself! No, I am not a ball gazer, but I will definitely watch you on your way out the door. The question is “is he or is he not going to?” and more often than not I am disappointed.
Then I start thinking of “6 degrees of separation” – the theory that only 5 people separate any given pair of people. How does that come into this you ask? Well, if for some reason the stars line up and those 5 people end of meeting in sequence and shaking hands on that particular day (how likely is that?) I could end up with the reminant of the retard’s urine on my hands. For a lot of people, the last drop doesn’t just end up in their pants, the penultimate drop ends up on their hands.
Well, there is only one thing to be done. I have decided to start acosting people and asking them politely to wash their hands before leaving the rest room. Yes, I know the territory is fraught with danger but if it’s only a blackeye now and then, I think the benefits are worth it. Why my fixation with washing hands after the act? Well, I don’t mind falling ill on account of my own sins (and I tell you those are more than enough) but I don’t want some other person’s “g” warts growing on the inside of my cheek just because the retard won’t do the needful after a visit to the loo. And no, I am not related to Howard Hughes (but I won’t mind having some of the millions he left behind). Please if anyone is considering sueing me, kindly send a one-way plane ticket to America. If we are going to do that dance, let’s do it in God’s own country.
I have of course long planned to start carrying a little loo black book (LLBB) in which I will blacklist anyone guilty of the above crime. So the next time you stretch your hand out to shake me, I may decide I have an itch I must scratch at that very moment or pretend to have my hand stuck in my pocket for some reason.
So like the Mafia I will blacklist you, blacklist your family, blacklist your friends, blacklist your colleagues and the little mutt that you call your dog. Did you say Omerta? What’s that? I should keep silent about it? Well, bleep that and while you are at it wash those bleeping hands will you? In the meantime, I tell on you to everybody! And tell your mongrel too! The next time you offer him food and he looks balefully at you with rheumy eyes and walks away, he is not ill, he just knows that like a true bodyguard, he will give his life to protect you, but he does mind licking your balls.
So wash those hands or else you will be an inglorious entry in my LLBB!