Demotivational Posters for Bloggers! from Bestbathroombooks

As most of you know, besides my incredibly successful blog bestbathroombooks, I work for WordPress.  They hire me from time to time to show other bloggers that writing a blog is easy, fun and not a complete waste of their lives.  I think we can all agree I’ve done a spectacular job.

Well, actually, too good a job.  The WordPress servers are overloaded with bloggers.  WordPress executives are depressed.  So they hired me again.   This time they asked me to write a few demotivational posters, and, because the money is ridiculous (I’ve already retired six times off of this blog and WordPress fees), I said I would help.

There’s nothing that breaks my heart more than depressed multi-millionaires.  So here are ten posters that will live on in cyber-space forever and help WordPress stay afloat.  I hope they demotivate enough bloggers so that you—the important ones–can keep blogging forever.

Love always,


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Foto Friday-Butts, Bellies and a Beautiful Bay

Yep, I work for a living.  I had four calls in San Francisco at the International Terminal yesterday.  I started off at SFO (logistical nightmare) and got the guys unloaded and working.  Terrazzo restoration this time if you care. Next stop, the Castro, where I snapped this photo:

Ah, the sweet smell of summer!

Bay to Breakers is this weekend, and these two well-hung gents decided to show the world what God gave ’em.   I was driving and texting and eating and listening to a book on tape about how multitasking is unhealthy, so the picture isn’t perfect–but I did manage to grab my phone, find the camera button and snap this one as a Muni-bus, taxi, three bicyclists and four pedestrians ran interference.

You can (not so) clearly see two naked guys with hats and sunglasses and boots and white socks (okay, you can’t see the boots and white socks, but their feet were safely protected) walking down Market Street.  My father would worry they didn’t put enough sunscreen on their schmeckels, but I’m sure they helped eachother with the Coppertone before they stepped out the door.   Just another day in our glorious City by the Bay.

Then I was in Pac Heights.  If you’re not aware, this is where the rich people live, including Nancy Pelosi,  on the corner of Divisadero and Broadway.  This is a picture of a trucker having a bad day.  What happened?

He forgot that San Francisco is steep, and how long his truck is.  He was heading up Divisadero towards Broadway from the Marina when he bellied out on the hilltop.  This happens from time to time because there are such steep hills in the city and such long trucks in the world.  Whenever I think I’m having a bad day, I think about all the other people in the world and realize there actually is an ultimate bad day for everyone.

If you’re a doctor, your patient may die on the table.  If you’re a porn star, you may find out  that all the ‘roids you took have finally shrunken your balls and rendered your appendage useless–all on film with five people standing around laughing and pointing.  If you’re a blogger, you write a blog like this.  At least this trucker didn’t run over Nancy Pelosi with ‘roid balls while his wife died on the table (she was having surgery that day).

Then I was over on Greenwich off of Hyde.  Sweet spot with a view of Coit Tower and  Alcatraz.  This pic doesn’t do it justice and I should have Photshopped out the wire, but it was a beautiful day.

Look for the cylindrical object at the top of the hill that in no way is suggestive of a useless appendage.

Here’s a pic of the cable car on Hyde:

Once again, driving safely and taking pictures and texting and eating a three course meal of Rice-a-roni

The brakeman (in the yellow jacket) is really working the brake.  If you’ve ever ridden the cable cars, you know how much fun it is with the breeze blowing through your hair and naked people’s scent blowing through your nose.  The brakeman was having a good day.  No one fell off the cable car and got cut in half.

So that was my day.  And now I’m back at work so I threw this together just for you because I know you wanted to see some pictures of SF and hear about my day.

Remember, everyone has a bad day now and then, but if you take off all your clothes and put on sunscreen and walk down the street, you will always feel better.

At least if you live here.

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Hey Vagina!

I spoke with my female editors and we came up with this title.  We considered:

 Hey, Vagina!

but decided to leave the comma out.  We had a long argument about whether or not to keep the comma.  We thought the comma might make it sound like we saw a vagina on a roof or in a mailbox and we were pointing it out.  Then we thought if we left the comma out, it would mean we were talking directly to the vagina.  We almost forgot what we were talking about, which is, of course, the most amazing invention from God ever:

Hey Vagina!

It’s at the top of the legs. If you reach the bellybutton, make a U turn.

As with my previous post “Who died and made you Penis?” when speaking about the vagina we must first reference the Bible.  This allows us to blame the vagina for pretty much everything bad that has ever happened.  Eve did, after all, listen to a talking snake (God’s subtle phallic symbol) and the Serpent talks her into taking a bite of the apple.  Then of course, being evil and having a vagina, Eve offers Adam a bite, and they both become embarrassed by their nakedness.  So now, with the invention of shame, they need clothes.  Also, just to make women feel worse about wanting to eat a healthy diet full of pectin and vitamin C and other things I looked up on Wikipedia, God explains that women will have to birth babies.  He specifically wants Eve to remember, when the kid comes out, it’s not His fault that it hurts.   

Thanks, Eve, for making women have to birth babies with pain, and for making all of us wear clothes.  If it hadn’t been for you we’d all be playing volleyball in one big happy nudist colony.

So, very early on, women and their vaginas are portrayed as evil, or bad, or at least defying God.  That’s a great way to start the history of womankind.  It’s like buying a puppy and putting it in a box and burying it alive, and then telling your kids it’s the puppy’s fault because your back hurts from digging.

But don’t worry.  Even though that was a long time ago, things are different now.  Women are not oppressed anymore and are seen as intellectual equals and first class citizens everywhere, except:

The vagina is mysterious, which, even today, makes people angry.  They are angry because they don’t understand the vagina, much like when you go to the store and the cashier has double D breasts and whiskers, and you become angry because you don’t understand.  You want to know what the whiskers have to do with it, but you can’t ask and no one is going to tell you.  As an American, you feel it is your right to know exactly what those whiskers mean.

But you will never know. 

Similarly, the vagina is too mysterious and confusing for certain people.  These people usually have the word “fundamentalist” preceding their religious beliefs.  Because the vagina is mysterious to these people it is simply terrifying.  Sexually, it does not send up a flag that says, “I’m satisfied!  Your work is done here!  You can go pray now!”.

This is very threatening.  This is just another whisker or double D breast that makes no sense and yet is somehow so alluring.  For most males, the vagina has an extremely strong magnetic quality.  Men are drawn to the vagina like internet users to the word “vagina” or “anal” or “blogging tips”.  It is so magnetic and inspirational that certain religious men are inspired to fit themselves with explosive underwear, board a plane and blow off their testicles.

It takes two balls and 72 vaginas to wear these things

They do this so that in the afterlife they will be surrounded by 72 vaginas.

They believe these vaginas will be brand spanking new with absolutely no mileage on them.

But in reality, the vagina is not an evil organ and women are not evil.  The vagina is an amazing organ that is the portal for all human life.  The vagina provides much pleasure for the entire world.  The vagina is why the internet was invented.   The vagina is why buildings are built, wars are fought and Oprah Winfrey doesn’t call her private parts her “Penaynay”.

Simply put, more than half the population on Earth has one, and roughly the other half of the population wants one.

At least for a few minutes.

So, Hey Vagina!  Here’s to you.  Don’t let people put you down (or in a mailbox).  Don’t let the bad stories of the past taint your true importance to society.  You are one of my favorite organs, and I salute you.

After all, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here.

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BBQ Sauce or Blood?

I just recorded this at NPR studios in SF on Friday.  It’s an example of two styles of writing.  I wrote a blogpost entitled “Hey Crazy Gun Nut Dude!” on this blog in bestbathroombooks style.  Then I wrote this piece with the same subject matter for the Perspective series. (This is my fourth Perspectives).  This more conservative and thoughtful style is the style they like.  NPR Perspectives are heard by about two to three hundred thousand people a day in the Bay Area (as opposed to the fey hundred hits a day I get on my blog).  That amount doubles when they play the piece on the weekend.

Once you click on the link, click on the blue highlighted title “I Give Up”.  Then click on the yellow arrow above my pic for the two minute podcast.

Here’s what’s amazing:  Pretty much every one of you who reads this blog–and the people who leave comments in my comment box–are more capable of writing these pieces than I am.  And you can probably read it better.

There are eleven member stations across the US.  Find the one nearest your geographical location, write a piece and submit it on line.  It’s as easy as writing a blog post.  It’s only 350 words, or about two minutes when read aloud.  You should hear within a week if they accept it.  If they don’t, the editor will most likely give you good feedback on what you need to do to fix it.  They need pieces, and you (yes, I’m talking to you) are fully capable of throwing down some NPR ‘tude.  It can be on any subject and the best part:

They pay you.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you and get writing.  I’m betting you can smoke me like a double rack of baby back. With BBQ sauce.

Can you please get back to writing the funny stuff?

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Don’t Let your Sun Go Down on Me

I looked outside today.  It was a writer’s worst nightmare.

It was a beautiful day. 

The sun was shining.  Birds were chirping.  Bees were buzzing around and not stinging my penis (I often write naked).

When I first started this blog, I had a goal of writing a hundred posts.  To many of you out there, this is a laughably low number of articles.  My goal was to keep the writing on the subject of bathroom books, humor and the body, and promote my book—and in the process carve out a piece of the internet with  as the beneficiary.  Early on someone told me they liked my blog but the website sucked.  I agreed, and still have plans to upgrade it.  Thanks for your support.

I wanted the majority of the posts to be funny (unlike this one) and I wanted to make myself laugh.  I wrote lots of them in the tone of an A-hole, because I think condescension and indignation are funny, especially when the writer’s/speaker’s voice is unaware of what an A-hole he is.

I did not understand, at the outset, the culture of the blogosphere (or how to spell bloggoshpere).  I could not understand how people interacted and cared so much for virtual strangers.  Lots of things confuse me, like why people go to fast-food restaurants and eat triple cheeseburgers with bacon.

But then, I’m from California.

So, as I started writing and trying to make myself laugh, I collected followers.  I subscribed to a bunch of bloggers I thought were talented and still enjoy their writing and ideas.  I learned that the title of the blogpost is paramount, sex sells and that the subject matter is less important.  A little post that leaves plenty of room for feedback usually–but not always– trumps something longer, even if it’s better written.  People are busy, and eliciting a quick quip or punny reaction moves the delete button a little closer to cleaning out the ol’ email basket.

I didn’t understand at the beginning of all this that the culture is personal, and people like to hear and express their innermost feelings.  I made a vague commitment to NOT write and address blogging techniques, ask questions or solicit comments or write pieces that I thought couldn’t pretty much stand on their own as something to promote the business.
But I was working in the ‘sphere, and the culture is difficult to work in without making personal connections of some sort or other.  Despite my haranguing of bloggers and their insular lives, I actually—despite my commitment not to—ended up liking a lot of people (albeit, people who I still can’t bring myself to believe actually exist in any real sense of the word).

So now I’m up to 90 posts.  I have ten more to write, and the sun is shining outside.  My contractor son is hot to build or remodel.  My edu-political daughter’s air con is failing and we need to address that.  My wife has been patient through the process of this blog, but I know she’s looking forward to having my full attention and my eyeballs pried from the glowing screen.  She’s one of those gazelles who likes reality.

I absolutely believe there are amazingly talented people out there, and I will read and steal from you as much as I possibly can from now until my laptop breaks or I go back to Yosemite to live with the bears.

So, before your sun goes down on me, I’d like to thank everyone who was paying attention to any of these posts.  I have ten more to write, and I will make sure I use the words poop, penis, vagina and erections in most of them.  I might even throw in a hemorrhoid if you’re lucky.  Then, as my goal is finally reached, I can remember all the people who I knew in the WP World of Pixels, and maybe, someday, we will meet again in heaven, where all the real people live.

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I only have Half a Dome

Check out my Award-Winning Film entitled, “Why Les at Bestbathroombooks will never work at the Discover Channel.”  It’s right behind Goyte’s “Someone that I used to know” as the video most likely to cause motion-sickness. It’s only 30 seconds!


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The Anal Post


Joe Mielke Artwork

As everyone knows, having a blog supported by WordPress requires that you write at least one post with the word “anal” in it.  This is because WordPress, the company that supports all of our blogs, fills their executive chairs with anal people who insist on the use of the word “anal”.

Anal in the brain

Anal Retentive is a phrase made popular by Sigmund Freud in his famous psychoanalytic period of the 1890’s.  The characteristics of anal retentive people have been described as particular, specific and fastidious, while those of Anal Expulsive people (a lesser known but equally important Freudian distinction) are casual and more easy-going.

Curiously, when someone in Starbucks announces to her fellow patrons that she is “anal” because she likes “two and one half pumps of caramel”, the description is incomplete–similar to saying you are “lactose” instead of “lactose intolerant”.  Either way, you are probably going to have bowel issues which make you incredibly interesting, so please continue to talk about your anus in public.

Because blogs are a forum for bloggers to describe aspects of ourselves that help others understand how incredibly interesting we are, I thought I would describe my anal experience.  I do this to provide a total blogging experience for you as required by WordPress, similar to Freud’s experience with his patients, minus the snorting of coke and the confusing erections.

Geez Mom, at least put on some Barry White

When I was young, my mother decided that the rectal thermometer was the most efficient way to check my temperature.  My little bum (that’s butt to you Americans) was tight and frightened as she approached with the silver mercury tube, vaseline poised on the bulbous tip like a Flock of Seagulls petroleum ‘do.

She would slide the thermometer into my rectum with no warning and minimal foreplay.  To me, it felt like I was being raped by a very well-endowed glass midget who knew no mercy on my young, pink pucker.

Two minutes later, just as my sphincter was adjusting to the girth of three spaghetti strands, she would withdraw the alien intruder, and I would begin to relax, knowing that someday I could reveal this burden to the world via a blog about poop, hemorrhoids and the importance of understanding our lack of importance.

You are anal retentive

Proof of Anus-liens

Since that day, I have shied away from anything anal.  I don’t believe I am anal mostly because I’ve never owned a car cover and also because my father took me aside and explained to me that “things come out of that hole, Son, they don’t go in.  You understand?”

…and there’s no actual “blowing” in blowjobs…

It takes a certain amount of bravery to talk about your relationship with your anus, and I applaud the many people who announce their connection with this bacteria-laden area as if it were a free parking space or a TV show with Ashton Kutcher.  I think the world is better off that we can announce to everyone in Starbucks that our personalities are directly attached to our anuses.

Just as abusers abuse and molesters molest, I now collect rectal thermometers, though I cannot for the life of me understand why.  As I’ve grown to learn more about myself with all of my blogging friends, I believe the reason I am now building a museum to Sphincter Temperatures is because I’ve isolated exactly what the true meaning of life is:

If you must be anal, be anal about your anus.



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