Official music page and soapbox of Matt Snell

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Soul of the Crapper (A True Story)

     So I’m sitting with some friends of mine around the bar and one asks, “What’s the graffiti like in the men’s washroom?”
     “I don’t know,” I said, “I never really looked.”
     “The graffiti in the women’s is all about anal sex,” she told me. “Like, pros and cons all up down both stalls.”
     “Really?” I asked, and a second friend confirmed it. I turned in my stool and asked the fellow beside me. “Have you noticed the graffiti in the men’s?”
     He shook his head. “I’m in and out.”
     I turned back to my friend. “Is one stall more pro and the other more con?” I asked.
     “Nope,” she said. “It’s just a big debate on both sides. Phone numbers, names, that sort of stuff.”
     I set my empty beer glass before me. Lucky for them, I needed to go for a pee. I got up, walked past the pool table, and pushed my way through the swinging door. Two husky lads were at the urinals, and I didn’t feel like squeezing between them. I locked myself into the stall, relieved myself, and made some observations.
     As I got back to my seat, the band was just playing their tuning notes. “I found the answer,” I said. They three turned to listen. I raised my voice over the growing din. “It says,” I cleared my throat. “Somebody wrote on the door...”
     “Yes?”
     There upon the stall was written:

I cut my teeth upon the land
And when I walked my feet were bound
ON REVOLUTION

And another:

                                Oh let me be a grain of sand in Heaven’s eye
                                And I shall taste eternal Joy
                                                                                   
                                                                                    Joy

                                                                                                  Joy

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