I have a sign fetish. Not sure what you’d call it if you had to consult a shrink. I can’t help myself. I see bizarre signs everywhere. It’s like I’m drawn to them. I laugh at them and then whip out my … what?! Come on, Dr Whosanutnow, stop looking at me like that … you think I whip THAT out in public? You shrinks see Freudian sex stuff under every bush and fetish. Fuck. I mean, sure, women are always asking me to whip it out in public, but I don’t want to scare the children. I do offer private viewings. Not for children. You. Sick. Bastard! How the fuck did I get onto this when I was talking about my sign fetish? You’re a goddam useless shrink. What do I pay you for? So I whip out my camera – my CELLPHONE CAMERA – and record my porn-fascination with signs. Now help me before I get arrested.
I have no idea. The session may go down like that. I’m sure my shrink would need to see a fellow shrink as a result. Anyway, here’s a sign outside the best theme-toilets I’ve ever had the pleasure to relieve myself in:
Apparently, everyone gets caught in the cubicle reserved for perverts – aptly named Temptation. When the pervert person using this toilet lifts the female doll-thing’s dress, an alarm buzzes and everyone in the restaurant knows that yet another diner has the control of Tiger Woodpecker in a room full of tattooed porn stars who dig unprotected sex with rich golf players. I didn’t fall for it. I have a sign fetish, I’m not a sick voyeur (you know who y’all are).
Except, this sign fucked up the whole experience of theme-toilet heaven for me. Just look at it. You can take a dump / sit down pee (*cough* Father O’Mally *cough*) in the toilet while tweeting about your experience to the entire twitsphere, but you can’t dunk / baptise someone in the toilet? That’s fucked up. And where the hell is someone supposed to puke if they consume bad sushi? As sure as there’s a God in heaven laughing derisively each time I whip out my cellphone to photograph another sign, if I see an ornamental fish swimming in a toilet bowl, I’ll whip out (concentrate) my fishing rod without a thought for toilet fishing regulations. But toilet skiing is for idiots, I’ll give them that much.
I’m going back. With fishing tackle. And if a smallish waiter tries to stop me, I’ll dunk him headfirst in the toilet. After I pray to the porcelain god.
PS The food was good. Namaste. I recommend one of the big-ass burgers. No comment about sushi.
PPS Seriously, kick-ass toilets and the sign put me into a trance.