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Toiletron
Toilet for the video game generation | |
With a pleasant sense of relief and a new spring in your step, you close the cubicle door behind you and go towards the sinks to wash your hands. Then the lights dim slightly, cheesy, triumphant, electronic video-arcade music starts to play, and a screen pops up behind the washbasin with "_ _ _" in white
on black indicating that your recent exertions have produced results whose weight and volume are worthy of a High Score. While washing your hands you use the washbasin taps to enter your initials.
(?) Law of the Playground - Section "S"
http://www.playgrou...rowse.pl?a=s&sa=120
See "Skiers" [hippo, Sep 06 2000, last modified Jan 10 2006]
urinal funfair game
http://www.halfbake...al_20funfair_20game
The urinal-only version [hippo, Sep 06 2000, last modified Oct 05 2004]
[link]
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Who would want to put themselves in the running, so to speak, for the number 1 spot? Or would number 2 be the coveted rank in this case? |
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<laughing wildly at the thought of what this device would do after last night's curry-and-beer binge> |
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I'll nominate it for a 'golden shower' award.
That would be a laugh.
You could turn the inside of the cubicle door into a "hall of fame" (or maybe infamy) so that you'd know what you're up against. |
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That's a load off my mind. |
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Of course there would have to be a Gentlemen's and Lady's leuges. |
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But the act of defecating, when not sexualised, is a solitary one. It is the manifestation of the pooer's intestinal prophecy and, if anything, it should be treated with solemnity. The Toiletron, however, does for shitting what Americans do for sport: strips it of its grace and reduces it to numbers, strings of digits collated and presented for no reason other than oneupmanship or, if we're being amateurishly Freudian about it, penis measuring. Now that sort of activity has no place in the lavatory, particularly if the lavatory in question were to be part of a larger, socially competitive setting such as a workplace. The washhandbasin would be a new milieu for alpha-maleisms, with the digestively meek forced to stare fixedly at their hands, scrubbing hard while the colossally-stooled victor stands, hands on hips, smugly arching his back away from the mirror and his groin toward, basking in the glory of the four punder - HIS four pounder - flashing bright blue seven element numberforms across top of the leaderboard, intermittently shooting triumphant glances at the loser, daring, willing him to catch his gaze, to be forced to acknowledge the crushing superior of his load capacity. No, it is simply another outlet for such petty social dominance play. At best, social terrorism of a craven stripe, at worst, it could lead the competitive to turn towards unhealthily large bran intakes, increasing amounts of time spent competing in the lavatories rather than on task, a digestive arms race played out silently, save for the the intermitent groans, plops and hollering from behind cubicle doors. |
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//Americans ... reduce[] it to ... penis measuring.// |
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Well, you have to go with your strengths. |
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I'd just like to say I love [calum]'s annotation, and the phrase "intestinal prophecy". |
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The horror of being branded "digestively meek." What could be more humiliating. |
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This may contain the solution to making Poopstar a viable product. |
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