Somehow this morning took a scatological theme at the front counter of 506 Clement. Early on the buyers were chuckling over an enormous French tome on the subject of dysentery. A woman bought her son a copy of Andy Griffiths' The Day My Butt Went Psycho. Someone somewhere who had a million dollars to piss away bought J.D. Salinger's toilet, I heard. We talked about that. And while this anecdote may not quite fall into the scatalog canon I'm crafting here, I finally got a look at the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, in which Greg decides he can't be friends with Tyson because he pulls his pants all the way down when he uses a urinal. Good choice Greg, but I still can't stop thinking about the can! Maybe I'll reread A's post on Stefano Benni's Timeskipper, and then track down a copy of Black Spring for that part where Henry Miller spends about a five pages just meditating on the idea of public urinals. Man, I gotta go!
Toilet Talk
Somehow this morning took a scatological theme at the front counter of 506 Clement. Early on the buyers were chuckling over an enormous French tome on the subject of dysentery. A woman bought her son a copy of Andy Griffiths' The Day My Butt Went Psycho. Someone somewhere who had a million dollars to piss away bought J.D. Salinger's toilet, I heard. We talked about that. And while this anecdote may not quite fall into the scatalog canon I'm crafting here, I finally got a look at the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, in which Greg decides he can't be friends with Tyson because he pulls his pants all the way down when he uses a urinal. Good choice Greg, but I still can't stop thinking about the can! Maybe I'll reread A's post on Stefano Benni's Timeskipper, and then track down a copy of Black Spring for that part where Henry Miller spends about a five pages just meditating on the idea of public urinals. Man, I gotta go!