In Which We are Bad, but like Danny Zuko, not Jesse James

This is one of the great mysteries of life: Who tagged the restaurant bathroom, and under what compulsion? I imagine two alternative scenarios:

1. Dude carries a sharpie marker with him where ever he goes because, after all, you never know when you might want to write out loud. So he’s sittin’ on the john, contemplating the towel-dispenser, when he thinks: “Man, I wish I had something to read. I bet other people wish they had something to read too.” And this Dude is prepared to do something about it. Sort of spur-of-the-moment philanthropy.


2. Dude is bad. Wants the world to know he is bad. Procures sharpie marker for the express purpose of telling the world out loud that he is bad. Stays up nights in his house on Arbor Mist lane thinking up ways to express his badness to the world. Decides that a lot of people eat at the Mongolian Barbeque. Perhaps he stands in the bathroom for a while, reviewing the possibilities, deciding on just the right expression of badness: “For a good time call…” is a bit cliche, and honestly, who’s number is he going to put down there? His own is the only one he can remember off-hand. Maybe a dirty joke, or the ever pithy and effective “f—-“. Then, inspired no doubt by his own actions at the urinal and a special he once saw on the Discovery Chanel about territorial animals, he writes his own name on the towel dispenser. Only really swirly-like, so no one can read it. Go Greased Lightning!


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