Port-A-Potty humour on FML Friday

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Port-a-Potties, like lawyers, are a sort of necessary evil. Sure, you could represent yourself in court (do your business in the bushes), but sometimes it makes more sense to have a professional look after things (not take a dump bare-assed behind a tent at, say, a music festival). But that doesn’t mean you have to like it (yeah!).

This week we look at Port-A-Potty perils experienced by FMLers. And where I normally think most of these people are just being huge woe-is-me whiners, this week I feel like most people have a fairly good reason to complain to the Internet masses.

But I’ll let you be the judge of that…

A case for locking doors

Today, as I went to the bathroom in a port-a-potty at a park, I forgot to lock the door. A little girl opens the door and then slams it right away. As she walked away I heard her say “no, there’s a man in there”. I’m a woman. FML

Well, see, here’s your problem: you forgot to lock the door. If you’d remembered that very simple thing, no small child would have mistaken you for a man. At least, not while you were bustin’ your stank bone in the old portable shit station.

And who forgets to lock a door, anyway? It’s like people who are surprised to get robbed when they leave their front door unlocked. Apparently, no one here is familiar with Mr. Murphy and his obscure set of laws. Or rather, his only law which says, in short: you are les dumbueue. Which is French for, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Oh, and to address that other thing: Nair.

Worst-smelling soap ever

Today, I used a porta-potty. After I came out, my mom came out of one and said “I really wish I could wash my hands.” I explained that I used the little soap bar that was on the side of the toilet in mine. She told me that was a urinal and the soap bar was a disinfectant bar. FML

How could you possibly mistake a urinal puck for a bar of soap, especially in a transient shithole? I know those little fragrant cakes are supposed to small fantastic, but they actually just smell like fantastic covered in pee. The French have a word for that, which I referenced above.

And how do you not understand basic design? If that thing truly was a sink, you wouldn’t have had to sit down to use it. Also, running water. See? Les dumbueue.

I hope you fall in next time. You disgust me.

A handle on the situation

Today, the handle in the port-a-potty broke off, with me inside. FML

In a situation like this, I look to the French, and their less-frequent-use of the word dumbueue, which in this case means, “You poor son of a bitch, I wish that hadn’t happened to you, even though I barely know you also I’m French.”

I also hope you employed the time-honoured technique of Kicking The Fucking Door In So You Can Breathe Non-Poopy Oxygen Again™. Because if you just sat there with the “handle” in your hands, then I’d have to use the definition of les dumbueue that I introduced up above, fuckface.

All of this reminds me of another word I’m quite fond of. It’s German, and it’s called schadenfreude. It means “I laugh with glee when you poop you pants,” or something. And even though you probably didn’t — because you were totally in a mobile shitorium — I’m still gleeful at your misfortune.

Photo by Sharyn Morrow on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License.

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2 Responses to “Port-A-Potty humour on FML Friday”

  1. Brenda
    September 7, 2012 at 12:05 pm #

    This topic caught my eye and I just had to leave a story. Several years ago, I went to the Stage 13 weekend rock show in Camrose (this was when they actually had Stage 13). I am not one for sleeping in a tent in a field but my partner and his friends were going and it sounded like fun. The show was, the sleeping arrangements…….not so much. We slept in a two person tent in a field edge to edge with about 10,000 other young people partying all night. After finally managing to get about an hour of sleep I woke up and realized that I needed to pee – bad. And as I lay there trying to convince myself that I did not, in fact, need to pee, the situation got more urgent. I am not one to pee outdoors at the best of times but I would have done it had there been anywhere within about a mile where one could get a tiny pit of privacy. There wasn’t. So my only option was to make the trek to the porty-pottie station. When I arrived, I discovered that the group had chosen the bit of a dip in the ground in front of the line of porta-potties to create a giant mud pit and there appeared to be some sort of mud wrestling tournament taking place. But I had no choice. I picked my way through the mud and writhing bodies, made it into one of the cubicles and pulled the door shut behind me. Remember that toilet stall in that scene from Trainspotting? It had nothing on the scene inside that porta-potty. I’m ashamed to say I actually used that toilet. And early that morning we drove into the city and had a shower at the local pool.

    • Adam Rozenhart
      September 7, 2012 at 1:42 pm #

      Ugh, I can’t even imagine, Brenda. Sounds horrific.

      As soon as you combine drunk people and port-a-potties, it’s like the 9th circle of hell appears. That shit IS bananas.