An Interior Dialogue

Wait. What is that?

What's what?

That, over there. What is that?

Where -- I don't see -- what are you talking about?

Take a look down, asshole.

That's not my asshole. That's my dick.

That was a good one. Seriously. Really funny.

Ok, that was a shitty joke, but I still don't see what you're talking about.

Are you really that much of a simpleton? Look right in front of you, on top of the urinal. Do I have to get out a map?

That would be nice.

Fine, here, I'll spotlight it for you.

I still don't see anything. But you're getting better with the Photoshop, I'll give you that much.

What Photoshop? What are you talking about? This is all going on inside your head.

Oh yeah, sorry about that. So that red circle spotlight thing is just in my mind? Like when the Terminator puts on the helmet that lets him see body heat and shit?

That wasn't a person wearing a helmet. That was a cyborg with a computer for a brain. Also, it was, in the context of the movie, real. That red circle spotlight thing is just in your head, and therefore, doesn't actually exist. Pretty big difference.

Wait, so the Terminator isn't wearing a helmet?

No, he's just a robot sent from the future.

I feel like I didn't completely understand that movie the first time I saw it.

No, I don't think you did, but that's not what's important right now. Check this out, it's a closeup. Does that help you any?

Aw, DUDE! Is that what I think it is?

It certainly is.

What the fuck man? Why would you show me something like that?

Because I wanted this to go off in your head:


Why did you want that to go off in my head. I would've been better off if I never saw that shit.

I beg to differ. This is a workplace bathroom open not only to multiple offices, but to construction workers, UPS guys, door men, janitors, drifters, and perhaps worst of all, bankers. There's no accountability here. Who knows what dangers lurk on those discarded body hairs you would have rather not seen. For chrissake, the main strand looks like a particularly resilient strain of the Ebola virus.

Now that you mention it, that random pubic hair inexplicably chilling on top of the urinal does bear more than a passing resemblance to the Ebola virus.

Look, I'm not saying that you're definitely going to catch the deadliest virus known to man. But I am saying that if you want to avoid going down as the Gaspard Manga of the office, you've got to keep your eyes and ears open. It's the goddamn wild west in this place, kid. Only instead of ruthless bandits and vengeful Indian tribes you've got tumbleweeds of pubic hair and dingleberries up the literal and figurative wazoo.

Point taken, voice in my head. Hey, what are you doing for lunch?

I don't have any plans, you?

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

I think I might be...

Bottomless bread sticks?

Oh, you bet your sweet ass I want some bottomless breadsticks. And you wanna know why?

Oh, I know why. Because...

THAT'S HOSPITALIANO!
THAT'S HOSPITALIANO!

Jinx! Buy me a coke!

Not only will I buy you a coke, I'll buy you two! or three! or four!

UNLIMITED REFILLS!!!
UNLIMITED REFILLS!!!

(Taking Care of Business plays as the imaginary voices inside of The Gooch's head high five)