On Nesting

I've found that most people tend to get skeeved out by having to sit on a public toilet. This is entirely reasonable, for women because they have to sit, but even more so for men because we know the horrible things we've done to public restrooms by not sitting down, and no matter what you do there is always the presence of Ass to deal with, that warm-ed over feeling that you are not the only person to have been there recently.

The Japanese developed squat-based toilet technology so they never even have to touch porcelain. Many places now feature those little tissue paper covers which look suspiciously like a cutout of a man's head. My mother once even told me of a high-tech restroom where each toilet seat was wrapped in a thin sheath of cellophane which circled the bowl and receded into the wall after each use. (If you think about it, the seat underneath the wrapper is probably the cleanest toilet seat ever. Pity no one could ever use it.)

Personally, I find I can manage incredibly well by simply laying down a few long strips of toilet tissue. This, I have learned, is called "nesting," due to its similarity to birds building nests of component twigs so they can lay their eggs, which incidentally are birthed through the cloaca that simultaneously functions as an anus. They are literally pooping eggs.

Sadly, I have also learned that nesting is almost exclusively a feminine endeavor, making me once again the strange gay penguin couple of the avian lavatory world. Great.