TOILET HUMOUR

Several years ago I was in the restroom of my then employer, a legal publishing firm, throwing cold water on my face in a desperate attempt to retain consciousness – such is the nature of the publishing world. Halfway through these actions, I heard sounds for which there is no apt description in the English language. Suffice it to say that they constituted the lonely utterances of a man seeking to relieve himself of his innermost demons. Interspersed with his agonized groans were the names of several religious figures of the Christian faith – saints, prophets, Mother Mary, Jesus and God Almighty Himself.

Although I could not even see this tormented individual, I regarded him with mixed feelings. Here was a human soul in obvious pain, seeking to cleanse his body of elements that would elicit sheer terror from the bravest of man and beast alike. Yet, in spite of his admirable attempts to once again attain a state of purity, I hated him for the indescribable revulsion his utterances instilled in me:

Uuunnhhh … Oh Sweet Mother of God …. Release me of these demons …. Plop … Oh thank you Holy Father, mighty are thee …. Ggnnhhhhrrrr …. Dear Saint Patrick, Holy Patron of …. Pffftttt … How you torment me Satan, giving me nothing in return for my labours …. Plop …. Bless you Jesus, Son of God …

Upon hearing the above words, I instantly forgave the Japanese for all their cultural peculiarities. I am, of course, speaking of pills that remove odour associated with bodily functions, toilets which play loud music as soon as they detect a presence on the seat, sound-proofed toilet stalls etc. Had it not been for my olfactory and aural senses, this revelation would have never come to light. The sounds I heard that day were other-worldly. They did not belong in this realm, which advocates order and civility as the norm. What I heard were the sounds of chaos – a living, breathing, intelligent being with no control over the most primal of biological processes.

In the event that Hell has an orchestra, an entire symphony of demonic music could have been composed solely from the sounds emitted by that one man. I have never heard anything quite like it in my entire life, and hope and pray that I never will. Prayer and profanity, supplication and defecation, faith and faeces … all united in the one act.

I have never been quite the same again since that day. My entire diet has taken a turn. Steaks are a thing of the past – fruit and fibre is my new mantra. Previously, I used to laugh at those old fools parading around on television, mouthing the magnificence of Metamucil. Not anymore, not anymore …

Scared? Of what??

A few days ago, I was laying back in bed watching TV, as was the style at the time. A television program titled 'Afterlife' was playing on Channel 9. For those of you who have lives and are not reliant on evening programs for entertainment, Afterlife is a show about a rather dreary looking white woman undergoing therapy on account of seeing 'dead people'. Having regard to the fact that she is a UK resident, I fail to see what makes her unique in that regard. England is full of pale people with blotchy skin walking around in a daze, especially on Friday nights following a few bevvies.

Anyway, the episode in question revolved around a fellow called Daniel. This young chap was haunted by a rather malevolent poltergeist he had named 'Daniel 2'. Daniel 2 was physically alike to Daniel in almost every way, but looked like he'd just done several pills and chased that up with an LSD enema. Suffice it to say that Daniel 2 was a creepy looking bastard, with bloodshot eyes, damp hair and unkempt fingernails. Oh yeah, he didn't say much either and had few passtimes, aside from scratching Daniel's face in the middle of the night as he lay terrified and quivering beneath the sheets. Later in the show, it is revealed that Daniel 2 is Daniel's deceased brother. Apparently his mother 'aborted' him following some affair at a late stage of pregnancy. Daniel 2 was feeling particularly pissed that his mother never quite acknowledged his existence and did her utmost to bury memories of the abortion and the life that might have been.

Well, I did not think much of this show until I woke up feeling like a cigarette at 2:00am. The night air was unusually still, and moonlight reflecting from my backyard pool lent a somewhat surreal shimmer to the surface water. As I stood outside in the cold, sucking warm ash into my lungs, I felt a little uneasy. For one, it was uncharacteristically quiet. I couldn't even hear traffic from a nearby main road, not that many people would be driving around at 2am on a Thursday morning. Second, the shadows cast on account of the crescent moon were almost supernaturally dark, as if the black had a texture and consistency to it.

As a child, my parents used to sometimes lock me in a basement or closet space if I had misbehaved. It'd be dark in there to put it mildly. Most days I would be hard pressed to see my hand in front of my face. Also, I had a disturbing fondness for horror novels despite being 8 years of age. By that stage, I'd already started reading authors like Stephen King, Dean Koontz and John Saul. My imagination was over-active to the extreme, and I literally felt as if I my mind itself could conjure up any number of demons when the darkness kicked in.

As a self-defence mechanism against my own imagination, I began to imagine myself as evil. After all, if you can't beat em' then join em'. This is the logic of a fuc*ed up 8 year old whose guardians have as much parenting skill as a piranha with a drinking problem. Amazingly enough, my little tactic worked. I was no longer afraid of the dark, and even willed myself to take walks in the backyard in the late hours of the night as a means of testing my own resolve.

Well, some 19 years have passed since that 8 year old was last locked in some closet or baseent. I am no longer afraid of the dark. So, why did I feel uneasy at 2am on Thursday morning. Realistically speaking, I no longer need to pretend I am evil as a means of circumventing fear. After all, I'm a government official working for what is arguably the most hated and controverial government agency in the southern hemisphere. Cigarette advertising executives would look towards someone like me with the utmost contempt and disdain. They would wonder how a living being could stoop to such low depths, how conscience, morality, decency could be abrogated by the misguided notion that one is serving his country by enforcing the will and word of politicians. Should Lucifer ever cross my path, he would shake in revulsion and disgust. Indeed, his much touted decision to NOT bow down before 'man' would be further enforced as having been the 'correct and preferable' decision. Yes, it is my belief that Lucifer has considerable legal skills, especially in administrative law. After all, he's reliant on people having made bad decisions in order to support his very existence.

For present purposes, I am not going to state my occupation. Suffice it to say that my home internet use may well be monitored by certain intelligence agencies. However, the mind once again boggles as to whether my unease that evening could be translated as being fear. If so, something is not quite right in the universe. After all, what reason is there to fear what does not exist? It's not like Daniel 2 will appear behind my shoulder and scrape one long, dirty fingernail across my brow. He's more likely to quizz me on my occupation, shake his head in disgust and then offer me a line so that I have a more 'liberal' perspective on life.