I realized that some restaurants try to hard to be different. Come on, a barsoap dildo that I need to jerk off in order to wash my hands? Thanks, but no thanks. That little sign over may say “Employees must wash hands before returning to work”, but it says nothing about customers returning to their tables and handling the salt and pepper shakers with urine soaked hands.
Previous Posts - A Germophobe’s Guide To Handling Life
No. Nuh uh. Absolutely not. I like to try new things and all, but there’s a limit to what species of dairy I’m willing to rub all over myself everyday. As a matter of fact, the idea of rubbing ANY kind of lathery milk product through every crevice of my body is effing disgusting… like even the breast milk of a dozen Brazilian supermodels or other milks of that caliber. But a GOAT? Seriously? With that idiotic picture on the box, right next to the logo for I’m guessing the manufacturer of this product: Canus. Yup… CANUS. ‘Anus’ is in there, which is generally a downer in terms of the whole cleanliness thing.
Dear lord, look at the text on the bottom of the box – they’re bragging about using FRESH goat’s milk, as opposed to rancid, maggoty, clumpy goat’s milk. Bravo… NOT. <in your face>
I’ll just continue to use goat-free soap.
Staircases and escalators have helped to advance society in many ways, but along with those advances come a bunch of occupational hazards. Fortunately for us at WIR, some of these occupational hazards are rooted in germophobia, which is one of our favorite sources of material.
That having been said, the lovely, young, vivacious lady pictured above finds herself in a precarious situation that many of us, in the escalator-using world, have faced at one point or another. She stands just behind and below the gentleman who stepped onto the escalator immediately before her, and due to the wonders of human anatomy, this places her face directly adjacent to his tooshie, in his anus’s line of fire. If he were to pass gas, it would probably go right into her mouth, or if she’s lucky, just her general face region. All she can do is hope for the best because (and we at WIR can tell you this from experience) it is EXTREMELY uncomfortable to tap a stranger on the shoulder and politely request that he/she please not break wind while your face is right there.
She will be in our prayers.
Special Thanks To Elizabeth Bonomo for putting her eyes, nose, mouth, throat and lungs at risk for the sake of comedy.
Yes, I am doing this on purpose (and by “this”, I am referring to my holding the very top of the subway support column). Why, you ask, am I doing this? It’s obvious, son! I’m a germ-conscious individual, and how many people do you think are grasping the pole at this location? Probably not too many. Now think about who’s holding the lower sections o f the pole. 99.992% of the population, which includes eight-year-olds who finger their butts throughout the day and then get on the subway.
I apply this technique all over. When I push a door open, you better believe I’m pushing at a very odd location where I’d imagine most people aren’t pushing. And no, this isn’t necessarily at the top of the door—I personally like to go right next to the spot where the door itself is attached to the door frame (a.k.a. the doorjamb for anyone with a decent vocabulary). Who the fuck pushes a door open from there? That’s right – nobody. Nobody, and myself. Yes, it may look ridiculous, and yes, it is considerably more difficult to open a door in such a manner, but I’m not the one who’s contracting malaria from a door.
Okay little third graders… Please defecate, and then immediately pick up this plastic bathroom pass that you placed on the psmatiste-infested floor while you did your business. Don’t even bother washing your hands, because let’s be honest, it won’t make a difference once you grasp this restroom pass that is saturated with the excretions of American youth. If I had any common sense back then, I would have just held it in until 2:45 when school was over. I knew that my parents didn’t institute the same policy at home, so I could relieve myself without also having to handle the excrement cocktail that is an elementary school bathroom pass.
Special Thanks To Corey Witt for somehow ending up somewhere that required him to use a bathroom pass.
Oh Jeez. I’ve been gone since 8 AM. I really have no idea if this happened at 8:17 or right before I got home five minutes ago. What do I do? That’s my only towel. Do I have to do laundry right now? Towels are absorbent, and the bathroom floor is home to a wealth of objectionable material, e.g. psmatiste. The proximity of those two plungers doesn’t inspire much confidence either. And we can’t overlook the fact that, if the towel was wet during its untimely descent, particles are definitely sticking to it. Many particles.
Why didn’t any of my roommates do me a solid and hang it back up? I rub that thing all over my sweet, tender body! Yet, can I really blame them? I mean, I wouldn’t want to touch something moist that has spent a considerable amount of time in contact with my roommate’s masculine region. Would you? You know your roommate. Now, imagine his cock.
Why the hell do we even bother constructing these “protective” coverings? I mean, I’m totally guilty of this; in fact, I do it every time I have to sit on a toilet seat in a public lavatory. But it’s completely ridiculous. Oh damn, a thin paper forcefield… take that, infectious bacteria!
Presumably, we lay down this porous paper shield because we think that there are some kind of dangerous microbes on the toilet seat that can give us diseases simply by making contact with our butt skin. While I can’t verify whether or not that’s true, I pose this question to you: do you really think that some bacteria or virus that’s dangerous enough to infect us solely through direct ass cheek contact would actually be stopped by a permeable layer of toilet paper? We’re not even talking about the sturdy, durable bath tissue I purchase for my sensitive rear end. We’re talking about public shitter toilet paper. You know the stuff… meat-and-potatoes TP, probably of the sandpaper variety. Drops of water soak right through this thing, yet we build these disposable barricades because for some reason, we’ve convinced ourselves that this is the best line of defense against contracting tuberculosis.
Regardless, next time I use a public restroom, I bet I’ll still make one.
Seriously? You really think I’m gonna use the top lid from the stack for my coffee? The one that’s been shielding all the other lids from the dangers of breathable air? You’re literally delusional if you think I’m gonna put my delicious, disease-free lips around the mouth hole of a lid that’s been exposed to dangerous infiltrations of sputum and sputum-like materials.
I mean, really! The guy with the lisp is standing right over there and with each word he utters, his thick, moist upper-lip is propelling saliva-infested foamy milk all over these here lids. You think I’m gonna take the one that’s been absorbing all of that? No! I’m peeling back a few lids, son! I’m going at least six lids deep for added freshness. You know, to the one that hasn’t been tainted by lispy spit-milk.
What, like you’re so perfect?
I never, ever, under any circumstances, bring my drink into a bathroom at a bar. Why not? Because I don’t want diseases, son! Sure, that may sound paranoid, but at least I’m not the one who’s gonna catch hepatitis from his own cocktail.
My urine strikes the urinal at velocities that produce reverse-propelled backward splatter, and everyone knows that, similar to the rain cycle, evaporated urine can re-condense above one’s glass, thereby producing a cascade of unpleasant precipitation into the beverage. And we’re only talking about MY evaporated urine. Now combine my evaporated urine with a mélange of different evaporated urines that are probably laced with various contaminants like asparagus, garlic, and riboflavin.
No thank you, plain beer sounds fine to me. Hold my drink, chap. I’m going in.
The Protective Sleeve Technique is a versatile tactic utilized by germophobes of all skill levels. Even beginners can make use of this approach to brave that doorknob in the gas station bathroom. But be subtle about it. Gaze off into the distance to divert the attention of onlookers, and as an added security measure, wet your face, thereby focusing attention away from the enclosed hand.
Expert germophobes apply this craft in unlikely scenarios—pushing crosswalk buttons, driving a rental car, or shaking hands with someone who generally appears clammy; instead, give him a fistful of fabric.
The Protective Sleeve Technique can also be employed during random sexual encounters. Want to limit physical contact with that gross slob at the bar that you didn’t necessarily intend to go home with? Leave your coat on, partner! Use your wool sleeves to caress her buttocks or to take a firm grasp of his pulsating cock. I mean, they’re probably too drunk to notice the difference anyway, especially if they haven’t said anything about you leaving your coat on.