*The Pointless Writer*

has a life you're completely uninterested in. But it's okay because I can write. No abbreviations. No shoddy grammar (though I'm not immune to mistakes). Just quality writing on sometimes completely pointless topics.

Inspiration/ Hilarity

`cirque. (by Nick)
The Joel Stein
Hyperbole and a Half (by Allie Brosh)

Pointless Yakking

No chatbox.

UnPoints of Note

1. I write when fancy takes. Sometimes, fancy takes many months of leave.
2. Never give up on this blog. I will eventually come back. When fancy has returned from its unfaithful travels.
3. All posts labelled Randomosity were written while I was on my junior college's blog team.
4. Everything is written as a challenge to myself. And it's all in good fun. Cheerio!

The Toilet Phenomenon
Tuesday, April 19, 2011

As a frequenter of ladies' toilets, I have observed a very interesting phenomenon, which, as the title of my thesis suggests, I have dubbed The Toilet Phenomenon. Okay, so that's not the most creative title, but it's not like I'm a budding writer, right? Nah, lil' ole me is just an aspiring psychologist.

This phenomenon reveals a very fascinating new side to the female psyche: women are timid, VERY TIMID, when it comes to opening toilet doors. As all we toilet-goers no doubt know, there is this strip of colour on toilet locks to indicate whether the cubicle is locked and in use or not. Red generally means locked while white indicates vacancy, for the uninformed.

Observe as this superior species known as the Venus Femina Homo Sapien edges towards the door as though the toilet monster really exists. Perhaps it is caution inbred after years as monkeys who couldn't swim before evolution had us imitate frogs. A dainty finger unfolds itself from an otherwise tense fist to cautiously poke the door. Yes, poke. The door doesn't budge, and the queue starts to build up. Nevermind that 5 minutes later, the lock still has that WHITE strip and NOBODY has left the cubicle. The intelligence of this superior species simply deduces that a bad smell will soon waft out.

Then, I come along. I belong to a subspecies known as Venus Femina Homo Sapien version 2. Yeap, new and improved. The members of this subspecies are few and far between. You don't notice us, because we look exactly like the version 1s, with a few mathematical variations here and there which result in differing IQs, heights, weights, and so on. Instead of deducing from the lack of a fellow female exiting the cubicle that the aforementioned fellow female is conducting the delicate business of excretion, we version 2s are more inclined towards deducing that the cubicle is unoccupied, since the lock has its WHITE label showing. Our intellect leads us to a) put more force behind that dainty finger, or b) use a dainty palm.

VOILA. The door opens. Venus Femina Homo Sapien version 2 has fulfilled her function in Toilet Society.


Chanson des √Čtoiles at 8:49 PM