UCLA home to eloquent potty-mouths

  Adam Epstein Epstein reminds you that
Palmolive spelled backwards is "Evil Omlap." Coincidence? Discuss
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Do you want answers?” “I think I’m entitled to
them.” “You want answers?” “I want the
truth!” “Then go to the bathroom and try to handle the
truth!”

“Excuse me, what was that?”

Wanna get a finger or two on the proverbial pulse of the campus,
tap into the academic zeitgeist of a collective of 30,000 and be
exposed to some of the most brutally truthful, depraved, raw and
blatantly controversial thoughts of a student body?

Well then, pound that 64 oz. Coke and inhale your Double Chili
Beef Burrito Grande, because if you’re in the market for deep
insights about the state of UCLA, you’re gonna have to take
it sitting down.

On a toilet.

The random etchings, sketches, limericks and assorted scribbles
found on the inside of UCLA’s bathroom stalls serve as the
most widely available and uncensored expressions of students’
internal monologues. Often times, such deep convictions clash,
leading to complex and heated dialogues between anonymous writers
searching for the constipated truth. The clash of porcelain-sitting
minds is something to behold.

The Socratic Method has never been more urinal fresh. Anyone who
tells you otherwise is full of crap “¦ or they just
haven’t taken one in a while.

As it seems that UCLA has at least one bathroom on every floor
of each building on campus, I doubt that even my most psychotically
devoted reader would take the time to search out all of the tiled
bastions of knowledge. Therefore, I present to you some of the more
memorable, insightful and gosh darned poignant scrawl that I have
come across during my various lower intestinal adventures.

The majority of lavatory rants that I encountered during my
research dealt with our nation’s war on terrorism and the
recent and tragic events in New York. A sampling of some of these
perceptive and discerning “conversations,” pieced
together in chronological order ““ “F%@k Osama, the
Taliban, and all who oppose the war.”

“Look! A crazy fascist with George W’s d%#k in his
mouth!”

“Voice of reason: Would the war end terrorism? Would no
war stop it?”

“I need a cigarette.”

“All you North Americans are a bunch of f@#king
morons!”

“Which leads to their dominating the world?”

“Does that include us Canadians?”

“F@#k Canada and its weak ass weed!”

“Weak weed is better than no weed, eh?”

“Cut your hair hippie!”

“These crotch drawings are amazing!”

“People that care about nationality are blind.”

“Justice is blind, you stupid pinko. Go back and play with
your camels. Long live USA!”

“God I’m so horny!”

Wow! I knew UCLA had some witty and educated individuals
moseying through its halls, but the profundity and breadth of these
potty philosophers is nothing short of mind-boggling.

Keep in mind, too, that many of these phrases were not only
written in some sort of pop-art, street gang tagging style, but
were often both upside down and at a great distance from where the
toilet bowl was located. We are obviously dealing with some
freakishly agile and flexible poets, or as one latter-day Plato
jotted, “I’m the clown who came to town, and wrote in
this stall upside down.” Brilliant!

Then there are The Grouts, the devilishly clever displays of
acumen that were lovingly written on the grout of a third-floor
Powell rest room wall. Never has the creativity of the UCLA
community been more apparent ““ Alexander the Grout, Grout
Expectations, The Grout Gatsby, Grout Balls of Fire, the Grout Wall
of China; these are a mere sampling of the washroom wit.
Unfortunately, upon my return visit to the wall of Grouts, the
writings had vanished, most likely scrubbed away by some uncouth
and unappreciative janitor (or “genitor” as some nearby
writings articulated it). Creativity was stifled yet again.

Some of the bathroom scribbles are so touching and profound,
they have the ability to stand on their own. They are prime
examples of the best UCLA has to offer. Take this pearl of wisdom
left by a scholar known to the outside world as Tay Q. “The
last man standing will ask if the game was worth the candle.”
I cannot come up with words to describe how true that is.

This was brilliantly countered by Jizzman’s searing
retort, “Just as you would not judge Ceaser (great use of
artistic license) for Rome, you don’t judge a country for its
government. If you want a one-world government, dial 66#.” I
agree Jizzman! Or as your unnamed compatriot wrote in the next
stall, “My balls are bigger than yours.” Amen to
that.

What is one to take from this display of crapulence? The picture
painted of UCLA based on the incoherent ramblings on bathroom
stalls is clearer than just-flushed toilet water: our campus is
obviously composed of flexible, racist, nationalistic, homoerotic,
homophobic, fraternity-hating individuals with bad penmanship, who
are adept at drawing enlarged pictures of genitalia, doing lots of
drugs, forcing words to rhyme even if they don’t, and leaving
phone numbers of considerate girls who are willing to “give
you a good time.” Nothing you weren’t aware of
already.

Remember then, next time you are at your most vulnerable and
just happen to have a pen or some sharp object around, leave your
mark. Become a part of a campus-wide discourse, and prove to
anybody else who has to relieve themselves that you too can be
ridiculous. Do not miss out on the knowledge that comes from the
combination of bowels and vowels.

After all, as “Fat-Man-Bill” told me on the second
floor of Powell, “Knowledge is Power!” Preach on,
Fat-Man-Bill.