You're doing a damn sight better than I. There's the usual pornographic scrawl, but there's also an ongoing intellectual war for territory, where every end-user of the facilities must scribble their name upon any available surface and declare they claim it for themselves, or possibly for queen and country. Last I checked, the brawl was getting highly metaphysical, as people had started claiming the claims of others.
My favourite bathroom scrawl, however, resided on the inside surface of the cubicle door in the Science building at Melbourne University. On the left, a vertical sprawl of Marxist debate. On the right, some kind of rudimentary and rather raunchy gay dating service.
About halfway down, they started to merge. Hilarity ensued.
I can't be a used as a primary source, mind, because I'm not in the business of frequenting gents' loos all that much but a mate of mine with a Y chromosone tells me of the scribble on the tiles (or more properly, between the tiles) in a Sydney Uni boys' room:
Some men are born grout Some become grout And some have groutness thrust upon them.
Excelsiorrrr! Bernhilde, it's moments like these that I consider getting serious about stick-on moustaches.
Kingsley, scholars have long navigated the overlapping rhetorics of revolution and romance, but very few have gone the extra mile, and turned their attentions to the toilet door. I spy a potential honours thesis topic, if I'm not mistaken.
i have some hazy late nineties memory of a lass at usyd, once the beloved of a friend, who did her hons thesis in psychology on the toilet graf in fisher library, comparing the hers against the his. why that piece of research isn't more widely known, i do not know.
Wow, congratulations on your first groovy piece of World of Warcraft power-leveler spam! You've hit the big time, obviously. I imagine advertisers will be beating a path to your door soon, flush with freshly printed money, wondering idly about the asking price of your soul.
7 comments:
You're doing a damn sight better than I. There's the usual pornographic scrawl, but there's also an ongoing intellectual war for territory, where every end-user of the facilities must scribble their name upon any available surface and declare they claim it for themselves, or possibly for queen and country. Last I checked, the brawl was getting highly metaphysical, as people had started claiming the claims of others.
My favourite bathroom scrawl, however, resided on the inside surface of the cubicle door in the Science building at Melbourne University. On the left, a vertical sprawl of Marxist debate. On the right, some kind of rudimentary and rather raunchy gay dating service.
About halfway down, they started to merge. Hilarity ensued.
I can't be a used as a primary source, mind, because I'm not in the business of frequenting gents' loos all that much but a mate of mine with a Y chromosone tells me of the scribble on the tiles (or more properly, between the tiles) in a Sydney Uni boys' room:
Some men are born grout
Some become grout
And some have groutness thrust upon them.
Excelsiorrrr! Bernhilde, it's moments like these that I consider getting serious about stick-on moustaches.
Kingsley, scholars have long navigated the overlapping rhetorics of revolution and romance, but very few have gone the extra mile, and turned their attentions to the toilet door. I spy a potential honours thesis topic, if I'm not mistaken.
(On the other hand, I may well be mistaken.)
i have some hazy late nineties memory of a lass at usyd, once the beloved of a friend, who did her hons thesis in psychology on the toilet graf in fisher library, comparing the hers against the his. why that piece of research isn't more widely known, i do not know.
Wow, congratulations on your first groovy piece of World of Warcraft power-leveler spam! You've hit the big time, obviously. I imagine advertisers will be beating a path to your door soon, flush with freshly printed money, wondering idly about the asking price of your soul.
bernhilde.
the origin of which is?
some men grate, some fall into grates, and others have grates thrust upon them.
hmmm.
The Toilet Door Sonnets: A Tale of Emotional Angst and Existential Despair inscribed on the back of Your Public Dunny.
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