Today in “Ask an Internet Patrolman,” Jimmy Dean Baeril of Patrick Cudahy®, Wisconsin writes: “Dear Constable Dooley, I’m 'bout to pull the trigger on a basement remodel — hello, man cave! — but costs are an issue. The lil' lady insists we add a “half-bath,” but I say — with the dough we’re layin' down for the wide screen, leath'rette couches, mini fridge, bumper pool and 'lectronic dartboard — who’s got the money — or space — for a goddamn bathroom? What's a feller to do, pray tell?” Dear Jimmy Dean, For someone named after a pork sausage maker, you seem not to have any meat between your legs. Man up, matey! ‘Tis a bloody man cavern, after all. Did you get a vote on the patterned wall border in the family room or the floral prints in the front hallway? No, you did not! She has say-so in her world, you, sir, shall have it in yours! Does a basement reno require plumbed toiletry? Not if a man is calling the shots! What a proper man cavern needs is an old-fashioned, portable commode station, something with streamlined utility as favored by our Mennonite brethren, or perhaps a style more ornate, a sturdy, oak replication of classic European design, with an enclosed chamber pot to retain your fecal soilings and a pitcher or vase nearby for cleansing; you could dress it up with an inscripted plaque, pull chain lighting, candelabra and cupholder (as shown) and away you "go," if you will, and why wouldn't you? You'll save the needless expense of underground piping and have homemade manures for the missus' potted plants. A gander at the calendar tells me you could have a decorative shitehouse in place by Father's Day. Don't sit on this matter too long, Citizen Evacuator. Yours Truly, Constable Dooley®.Wednesday, July 22
Shite, Housed
Today in “Ask an Internet Patrolman,” Jimmy Dean Baeril of Patrick Cudahy®, Wisconsin writes: “Dear Constable Dooley, I’m 'bout to pull the trigger on a basement remodel — hello, man cave! — but costs are an issue. The lil' lady insists we add a “half-bath,” but I say — with the dough we’re layin' down for the wide screen, leath'rette couches, mini fridge, bumper pool and 'lectronic dartboard — who’s got the money — or space — for a goddamn bathroom? What's a feller to do, pray tell?” Dear Jimmy Dean, For someone named after a pork sausage maker, you seem not to have any meat between your legs. Man up, matey! ‘Tis a bloody man cavern, after all. Did you get a vote on the patterned wall border in the family room or the floral prints in the front hallway? No, you did not! She has say-so in her world, you, sir, shall have it in yours! Does a basement reno require plumbed toiletry? Not if a man is calling the shots! What a proper man cavern needs is an old-fashioned, portable commode station, something with streamlined utility as favored by our Mennonite brethren, or perhaps a style more ornate, a sturdy, oak replication of classic European design, with an enclosed chamber pot to retain your fecal soilings and a pitcher or vase nearby for cleansing; you could dress it up with an inscripted plaque, pull chain lighting, candelabra and cupholder (as shown) and away you "go," if you will, and why wouldn't you? You'll save the needless expense of underground piping and have homemade manures for the missus' potted plants. A gander at the calendar tells me you could have a decorative shitehouse in place by Father's Day. Don't sit on this matter too long, Citizen Evacuator. Yours Truly, Constable Dooley®.