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For many centuries, now, the differences between men and women have been clearly and abundantly illustrated by the ongoing and never ending conflict concerning the proper utilization, maintenance and disposition of the proverbial toilet seat. This put-upon, much maligned inanimate object seems to have become a bone of contention, an adopted metaphor and battle cry for the things men do that women despise and which pisses them off to the point of becoming completely irrational. While, on the face of it, it would seem that this conflict should be absurdly simple to resolve, neither side seems willing to negotiate or compromise. Couples have divorced over irreconcilable toilet seat differences, wives have shot husbands in the middle of the night over it. And so, this vicious porcelain war goes on...

The major complaint women have in this area, is that men seem never to put the toilet seat down after utilization. This seems, through some strange and, as yet, completely unexplained process, to result in the aforementioned women sitting on cold porcelain or, worse, falling into the receiving water and becoming inextricably trapped in the chilly clutches of the potty. This is, no doubt, a frightening and humiliating experience, the results of which are to wholly traumatize the woman and to make the previously mentioned men's lives living hell for weeks, even months. Certain women have even been known, on occasion, to hold this grudge dearly for an entire lifetime, and have even been heard to mutter under their breath at the deceased's last rites, "See, you sonofabitch, I TOLD you to put the damn seat down".

Personally, I completely fail to comprehend the inherent nature of this problem. My only conclusion, the only logical conclusion any sane and rational person could come to, is that there is some, hitherto undiscovered, visual handicap which only women suffer from. A handicap which, in some manner, totally prevents them from LOOKING DOWN before they seat themselves. As anyone who has ever relished and anticipated the sweet and glorious idea of contentedly lounging in the recliner, to spend a few short hours viewing the exciting world of WCW wrestling, only to plop down upon a suddenly maniacal cat with intense serial killer tendencies can attest, there is strong and definite lifesaving value in examining the proposed seat before utilizing it. But, due to some unfortunate brain damage which, evidently, occurs only to females at birth, they have lost, or have never had, this vital ability.

Attendant with this disabling handicap is an odd side effect which occurs only in the middle of the night. You've all witnessed it, first hand and to your regret, no doubt. The female rises from a warm, comfortable bed in order to utilize the facilities. But, due to the aforementioned handicap, she is seated in a manner which incurs her displeasure, whereupon she returns, often noisily, wishing for the air horn from a semi tractor trailer, to the bed, waking the male from a sound and dream filled sleep, in order to ensure that he knows and fully comprehends the foregoing unpleasantness and will be prepared for the vicious repurcussions yet to follow, not to mention making snide comments about every single thing he's done wrong in the last year and a half, as well as casting vicious aspersions on his manhood and calling him opprobrious names in several different languages, including esperanto.

But, let us closely examine and analyze this deplorable, execrable situation. Where, precisely, did we go wrong? Well, it's that damned side effect we mentioned. Middle of the night. Dark. Very dark. Female heading for the loo. Sits down and...there you have it. Any normal, undamaged human being, in the darkness which is a natural, but as yet unexplained phenomenon, of night, has no difficulty in employing a marvelous modern technological invention called THE LIGHT SWITCH. To facilitate this miracle of science, architects and engineers, after years of research and heated discussion, have placed easy to understand and operate light switches in near proximity to each and every vestibule in each and every interior bathroom, toilet, lavatory, potty, head, shitcan, loo and restroom in the nation. However, the brain damage suffered by the female sex at birth, also seems to completely paralyze their arms and hands once late night hours occur, making it impossible for them to perform the simple task of manual dexterity needed to activate the light switch.

And, there you have it. Nothing to be done, what? Dash it all, it's simply nature. A phenomenon which there seems to be no solution to, nor resolution for. But, to be quite frank and honest, were I a woman, I suspect I might take a little time to be grateful and blessedly thankful that many men even bother to lift the toilet seat UP before managing the task in hand.

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Featuring the classic, 1966, independant, 23 hour film series, THE TRIP. Ride the old blue bus with all your favorite characters: Stanky Judy, the bead swallower, Glinda, the good slut, Freaky Jimmy, the LSD phobic, Moonshine Lee, Patty D'Arbanville, Frank Zed and Mac, the pothead beagle. Plus, special appearance by Fat Freddie's Cat!

And don't forget the music! We have an 8,000,000 watt sound system for your groovingness as you sit back, drop a load and listen to great bands like Bottled Sterno, Zap Franka, Little Dog and the Bo Donzo Band, Slowlead Delivery Service, Samdanny, Big Cousin and the Dropping Commune, Sleazy Gravyboat, Red Depression, Smilin' Jack Crash and the Master, the Pissed Off Alive. Yes! They're all here, and have been since 1966. We have nothing else to do. We're hoping this announcement will bring in some tourists and friends. It gets lonely out here with nothing to do but fish, farm, fuck and fart.

So come on down to the old blue bus. Take I-40 to Deephole, Arizona, turn right at the plastic teepees and go 23 miles to the Mount Batten turnoff. Look for the sign of the rainbow. If you see it, you've gone too far. Go back and turn at the rock painted with the purple God's eye. Remember, the purple God's eye. Not the red God's eye. Please come. We're waiting!

In 1914, New York socialite Mary Phelps Jacobs decided that the, then, popular corset didn't do a thing for her when she wore nice, clingy gowns. Her solution? This industrious young woman folded two handkerchiefs and sewed them together with ribbons, including ribbons that ran up and over the wearer's shoulders. She called this hot little rag a brassiere, from the french word bras meaniing arms. She began teaching her friends to make them. Soon, her bra was so popular that she sold the rights to the Warner Brothers, who made millions of dollars from the bra, which created Warner brothers Studios.