Editor's note: Today's entry is brought to you by a list of "Top 10 Disgusting Foods" that I discovered on listverse. To spice up my admittedly drab little tale, I've cleverly worked some of the most disgusting of the most disgusting into today's narrative. See if you can spot them all!
"Corb, I meant to tell you. That book I bought you for Christmas is perfect bathroom reading."
Corb looked up from his plate of ox penis and wrinkled his nose. "You're using my Christmas present as a bathroom book?"
Annie, who was sitting across from us in the booth of the local Chili's in South Eldredge and slurping down an enormous plate of caterpillar fungus, practically dropped her fork. "That is SO wrong! Why can't you just do your business in the bathroom and then get out? Why do you have to read in there?"
"Oh, you silly monkey," I replied, sinking my fork into some warm monkey brains. "You have to understand, I like to be educated, every moment of the day. It gives meaning to everything I do...even when I'm engaging in the necessary act of--"
"If you want meaning, then contemplate world peace!" she replied.
"And what if I came up with a solution?" I asked, innocently. "I'd have to get up. Wash my hands. Leave the bathroom. Look for a pen and paper. In all that time, the solution could easily fall out of my head!"
"I like to read in the bathroom," said Chad, quaffing down a glass of snake blood and bile as a pleasant complement to his well-seasoned dish of balut (duck fetus).
"But you like to read the same book, in the bathroom or out," pointed out Annie.
"See, I can't do that," I replied. "I need a certain something for the bathroom experience. It takes a certain caliber of book to attain bathroom level, you know. The books can't be too heavy, and you pretty much need something you can digest in five minutes, no matter what page you open up to. That's why Corb's Christmas book is so perfect. You can turn to practically any page and learn something interesting."
"Gee, what's the name of Corb's book?" asked Annie, looking terribly interested.
"Glad you asked!" I replied,
(Editor's note: okay, actually I lied. I just inserted Annie's question into this narrative to give the impression that she actually cared about what I was reading. In fact, she didn't. Didn't care one bit! I think she was afraid that I might go on and on about the book I read in the bathroom. Can you believe it? I mean, I don't know why she would be afraid of such a thing...I'm usually so gosh darned pithy! But never fear, dear reader...I volunteered the name of the book without being asked!)
"The name of the book is 'Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin.' And did you know, today I opened up the book to a page where Kathy Griffin was telling about the time she guest-starred on an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? And she was writing about the day they did the script reading. After it was all over, the actors in the show were asked their impression of the script. And the aunt in the show--the first one, not the pleasantly plump second one--said, 'It would be better if my character had a scene with Will Smith, where Aunt Viv talks to Will Smith about her college days.' And the uncle said, 'Will and his uncle should go golfing to talk over things.' And the snobby daughter was like, 'Like, shouldn't there be a scene where Will and I go shopping?'"
Annie stared at me for a moment, after I was done rambling on and on. It was slightly comical, because she had a piece of caterpillar fungus dribbling down her chin. "And this taught you...what, exactly?"
"That everyone is just so completely self-centered about things! These silly actors all thought the script would be better if they had a bigger part in it. And isn't how we all look at things, really?"
Annie wiped the caterpillar fungus off her chin. "Ummm...and you didn't know this, already?"
I smiled. "Not in that way. Not with a helpful Fresh Prince story to illustrate the point. And speaking of fresh, let me tell you, by the end of reading that story, that was one thing that bathroom was NOT!" And I waved my hands in the air, just in case they didn't get my drift.
Corb sniffed. "Anyway, from now on, please keep your hands off my Christmas book in the bathroom. Thanks to you, that poor book is now covered in fecal matter. I'll never be able to read it again."
I gasped. "It is not!"
"Is so! I mean, you were holding it while you--"
"I was not!"
"This brings up an interesting point," I interjected. "I'll have you know, since you asked--"
Corb covered his ears and closed his eyes. "No, I didn't. I didn't! I didn't!"
But I was not to be denied. "When it gets to that point, I simply stand up and place the book on the counter, so I can hold the page down with the soap dish and continue reading while I--"
At that point, my gang of friends, all gagging and recoiling in horror, for some odd reason, were mercifully spared any further details, as our friendly neighborhood waitress approached the table. "Anyone care for some for dessert?" she asked, perky as can be. "We've got bee larvae!"
That night, as we made our way into the apartment, I made a beeline into our bedroom, first thing. "I'm going to the bathroom, now," I buzzed, passing by Corb and Theo.
"Don't touch Kathy Griffin!" shouted out Corb.
Theo held his head between his hands. "That just sounds so wrong..."