In Lu of Common Sense

You know where the bathroom is.

It doesn't matter that you've never been in the house before. 

You know where the bathroom is. 

You don't need to ask. 

"These daiquiris are just working through me. 

Where is your bathroom? 

No wait! 

Don't tell me.

It's at the top of the stairs. 

It's at the end of the hall. 

It's the room with the soap and q-tips in it. 

It's the only room with an open door right now because you don't want me to see how unkempt you slobs keep your laundry room. 

It's the room that is in the same general location in every house built in the last two centuries. 

Let me know if I guess it."

How timid we all are. 

It could only be more obvious if you were sharing a prison cell. 

I think we ask where the bathroom is because we're secretly asking for permission to use it. 

Which may be the fault of our education system. 

What answer do you expect?

"The bathroom? It's in the basement, past the treadmill we never use."

"It is a hole in the backyard. 

And it's not a room. 

It's the backyard. You're looking for our bathyard. 

Which is obviously outside, stupid."

We've conquered irrigation. 

Grow up and just leave the dining table. 

Jimmy handles until you find it. 

What happens if you don't ask? 

Or they mistakenly tell you the third door instead of the second?

You drop a shit on their child's bed?

"It's not rude! You gave poor directions, frankly." 

I don't think so. 

I need to say this onstage, I think. 

That's why I seem so aggravated. 

It's not meant for you guys. 

It's everyone else. 

(And you guys).

Josh let me know about this band.
I'm only mentioning that because I just told him to drop by the blog.
Otherwise I would take credit for telling you about this disgusting band.