Toilet Humour Quotes

Sharon, your wife, uploaded several photos of your urine-peppered toilet on a wives’ forum under the thread title THE IDIOT SATURATED THE TOILET AGAIN, and also under the thread title BAD AIM, A SMALL-DICK PREDICAMENT.

Fine, but if you get yourself killed I reserve the right to flush your ashes down the toilet while I sing the theme from Titanic.

Books Are Good For Lots Of Uses, Not For Dropping In The Toilet.

If it weren’t for supplies, I’d never go back down to town. But a man has to do what a man has to do. Hard to live like a king without toilet paper.” --Astamur

In a traditional German toilet, the hole into which shit disappears after we flush is right at the front, so that shit is first laid out for us to sniff and inspect for traces of illness. In the typical French toilet, on the contrary, the hole is at the back, i.e. shit is supposed to disappear as quickly as possible. Finally, the American (Anglo-Saxon) toilet presents a synthesis, a mediation between these opposites: the toilet basin is full of water, so that the shit floats in it, visible, but not to be inspected. [...] It is clear that none of these versions can be accounted for in purely utilitarian terms: each involves a certain ideological perception of how the subject should relate to excrement. Hegel was among the first to see in the geographical triad of Germany, France and England an expression of three different existential attitudes: reflective thoroughness (German), revolutionary hastiness (French), utilitarian pragmatism (English). In political terms, this triad can be read as German conservatism, French revolutionary radicalism and English liberalism. [...] The point about toilets is that they enable us not only to discern this triad in the most intimate domain, but also to identify its underlying mechanism in the three different attitudes towards excremental excess: an ambiguous contemplative fascination; a wish to get rid of it as fast as possible; a pragmatic decision to treat it as ordinary and dispose of it in an appropriate way. It is easy for an academic at a round table to claim that we live in a post-ideological universe, but the moment he visits the lavatory after the heated discussion, he is again knee-deep in ideology.

Let me put it more artistically, with greater sophistication: They left us in the toilet. In the deepest pile of shit. And we're coated in the crappy residue of their desicions. But that does not mean we are the one who pooped, Moritz. And neither are we the poop. Never think that. We're not the poop.

Sometimes I regret going into that public toilet with your father.’ ‘Then practice safe sex, Mama!!’ ‘We were! There was a fight in the bar and we took cover in the public toilets!!

One of the main functions of a push-up bra is to lower the number of mothers who seem like mothers.

There probably was a time when the idea of having a toilet inside a house was repulsive.

I love my ex so much I printed out all his pictures. After all, I need him for target practice. And I just love customised toilet paper and doormats. My only regret is that those items don't bear his autograph.

So it just wasn't in my house. Anywhere, I looked like I knew about the toilet.

It's never a good day when an ancient demon shows up on your toilet bowl.

This guy was making me tired. “Thanks for the afternoon’s entertainment,” I said. “I’ll flush a copy of my bill down the toilet. You should be getting it in a couple of days.

As I was walking to my car, a crow that was sitting on a wall suddenly scooped down and did number two on my head. Luckily I was holding a newspaper on my head at that time because sun was very strong and I didn’t want to become tanned. So thanks god my blow-dried hair didn’t get spoiled. People say it is a good amen when a bird does potty on you, but I am sorry, what’s so good about your head being used as a toilet?

Most people would rather eat inside a windowless room in which they have just defecated than eat inside one in which someone else has just farted, even if the room does not have a toilet.

Naw, I say. Mr ____, can tell you, I don't like it at all. What is it to like? He git up on you, heist your nightgown round your waist, plunge in. Most times I pretend I ain't there. He never know the difference. Never ast me how I feel, nothing. Just do his business, get off, go to sleep. She start to laugh. Do his business, she say. Do his business. Why, Miss Celie. You make it sound like he going to the toilet on you. That's what it feel like, I say. She stop laughing.

In the cramped confines of the toilet I had trouble getting out of my wet trousers, which clung to my legs like a drowning man. The new ones were quite complicated too in that they had more legs than a spider; either that or they didn't have enough legs to get mine into. The numbers failed to add up. Always there was one trouser leg too many or one of my legs was left over. From the outside it may have looked like a simple toilet, but once you were locked in here the most basic rules of arithmetic no longer held true.

Ozzy's cage is now sparkling but there is a problem. It seems that if you put vast quantities of sawdust down a toilet, the toilet stops working.

i do not give a sh*t, the toilet miss me now

Passing their toilet training is the very last thing that some adults did that has made their parents proud of them.

Humour. Something funny can be a huge help with your visualising. This doesn’t mean you have to be the funniest person in the room, it means use what’s funny to you. When I meet someone called John, for example, I immediately picture him sitting on a toilet. For me that’s funny, for others it may not be—but it is memorable. I believe comedians are often super-creative beings because they find ways to communicate a point and to make it entertaining and unique. If you want to exercise your creativity, why not learn more about comedy?

I’m typing this as loudly as I can to deceive our lovely Indian maid that I can type amazingly quickly and that this is of vital importance, and that’s why I need her to come into the house three times a week and clean the floors, scrub the toilets, polish the stainless steel and buff the porcelain. Did I spell that right? I don’t know, but I’m not going to stop to check – she’s listening!

It absolutely stinks to have to pay to use public toilets, whether it’s for just a quick tinkle or for a more drawn-out doo-doo. Either way, it’s a shockingly foul business that makes millions from our blameless bladders, and where the only barriers to entry, it seems, are a couple of murky turn stiles, presumably soiled – for free – by non-coin collectors and fantastically ironic dogs. Next time we’ll remember to bring a bottle. And cork.

And in this way — whereas an artist who had been reading memoirs of the seventeenth century, and wished to bring himself nearer to the great Louis, would consider that he was making progress in that direction when he constructed a pedigree that traced his own descent from some historic family, or when he engaged in correspondence with one of the reigning Sovereigns of Europe, and so would shut his eyes to the mistake he was making in seeking to establish a similarity by an exact and therefore lifeless copy of mere outward forms — a middle-aged lady in a small country town, by doing no more than yield whole-hearted obedience to her own irresistible eccentricities, and to a spirit of mischief engendered by the utter idleness of her existence, could see, without ever having given a thought to Louis XIV, the most trivial occupations of her daily life, her morning toilet, her luncheon, her afternoon nap, assume, by virtue of their despotic singularity, something of the interest that was to be found in what Saint-Simon used to call the ‘machinery’ of life at Versailles; and was able, too, to persuade herself that her silence, a shade of good humour or of arrogance on her features, would provide Françoise with matter for a mental commentary as tense with passion and terror, as did the silence, the good humour or the arrogance of the King when a courtier, or even his greatest nobles, had presented a petition to him, at the turning of an avenue, at Versailles.

The magic I got from it was clean and empowering in a way that made me believe I was the most powerful being on Earth. And since that belief was actually true, I used it as infrequently and as delicately as possible. The last thing I needed to do was throw god-level powers around every time Doris told me to plunge the toilet. I had to be a good little human and not turn her into a pile of ash. Even though I could, I wouldn’t. But I could.