Number ones and number twos

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By Henry Shires

If you don’t like toilet humour the following will not be for you!!!

I recently discovered the joys of “flushable toilet wipes” (“Change What You Mean By Clean”, I kid you not). Only to quickly have my lifelong dreams of an eternally pristine derriere smashed by a consumer affairs exposé in which “flushable” toilet wipes were demonstrated to be falling at the very first hurdle – in the trades descriptions department. In that they should more correctly be called UNflushable.

However, by then someone had already moved on to producing “truly flushable toilet wipes”. If you are old enough to remember the hit 90’s rom-com movie perhaps there is also now an opening in the market for “Truly Madly Deeply Flushable Toilet Wipes”.

At this point I hear a chorus of voices complaining “but what about the St Kilda angle for your new column, surely St Kilda has its fair share of s**t?”.

Well, complaining chorus, you would be absolutely right!

Have you ever had to the misfortune to ever have to use the public toilets in the middle of Coles car park in Balaclava. If you have not I beseech you, for you own sanity, do not start now.

In my not so humble opinion a community, or even a country for that matter, is ultimately no better than its public conveniences. By the tenet, Balaclava in particular, and Port Phillip in general, must be in a sorry arse state. Because the inside of their public toilets, courtesy presumably of the local “ice warriors”* (Unless Balclava’s yuppies and hipsters have taken, en masse, to self-harming, as a way of relieving the oppressive burden of 21st century existential angst?) look like a cross between De Niro’s final shoot-out in the brothel in Taxi Driver. And the blood apocalypse of Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch.

And you St Kilda dog owners shouldn’t look too smug either.

If you are going to take the trouble to pick up your mutt’s offending poop and juggle it into a plastic bag surely you can then find one of those Dalek shaped green things called dustbins – apparently every home in the country has one! – to put it in.

Otherwise, why bother? You might as well leave the dodgy doggy dropping where it falls. Putting it into the un-biodegradable bag and just leaving there for the dog poo fairy just does not cut it.

And finally, to the – by the time you read this – recent election.

Unfortunately, I fear, whoever has won, whichever of the two controlling (rather than “leading”) parties it be, they are both still just Number Ones and Number Twos in my book.

And, metaphorically speaking, should all be swept up into metaphorical “Pollie Bags”.

And deposited somewhere with the rest of the metaphorical toxic waste that they have left us with as their primary legacies.


*Oh come on! And you call yourself a Doctor Who Fan!


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