Passive-aggressive poopery.

I don't know about your office, but mine has a nicely equipped "poop stall." Everyone knows that the approved "poop stall" is the one furthest from the door, where you can retreat in solitude, outlast a few pee-ers, thumb through the Vagisil product warning and the back of the M&Ms label (all that fits into your purse; I don't have the man-balls sufficient to stride into the poop stall proudly with a copy of the Wall Street Journal tucked under my arm.) Our poop stall is outfitted like the others with a multitude of TP rolls, but also with a can of industrial-strength Country Breeze Lysol - my favorite! I like to shoot a tiny courtesy spray upwards in synch with the courtesy flush.

However, in the spirit of 21st century poop-upmanship and eco-whininess, someone has taken issue with the Lysol, herein and to wit:



Now, I don't usually carry a pen into the stall (unless it's in my bag with a roughly folded copy of "Diesel Sweeties" - shut up), but someone was clearly on a mission. Someone hates cans; someone hates Lysol; someone is afraid that the next banned-supertoxin is disguised under all those Country Breezes. I tell ya, someone had better lighten up, plz!

Lysol is our friend (and a character on a classic Chappelle's Show bit)!

I bet that person uses paper seat savers and groans when they detect poopery rather than just deal with life. I'd rather have a pleasant, germicidal Country Fresh experience, than you!

(submitted to passiveagressivenotes.com)