Six Degrees Of Cock

The subject of hand washing came up at ClubDes this week.

Specifically why is it that some round here don’t, despite being ‘responsible’ adults and damn well knowing better than not to. What’s more, you know that they know because nine times out of ten the non hand washer will exit without Horoia Ō Ringaringa when he hasn’t been seen, thinking that his safety lies in his anonymity.

But like all bad habits, familiarity breeds contempt and it’s not long before the non washer is distracted into forgetting that not washing the piss spray off your hands is actually frowned upon by the majority and they make the ultimate error; doing it in front of someone.

Just as On Yer Bike Stu found out this week when one such perp felt the need to rub his hands on his – not Stu’s – face, but yet absolutely nowhere near the sink. The ultimate irony in this whole sorry saga is that if you walk around opening doors with a tissue then it’s you who is looked upon as being a fuckwit.

I don’t know where these guys were when we had that hand washing lesson in kindy and primary school, but clearly not in the vicinity of a basin. What must they think when teaching their own children? Maybe they don’t teach their own children...

Now I don’t care that these guys have no qualms about touching their own cock. What they do with it and where they stick is their business but when they exit without washing they effectively leave their cock on the same surfaces I share and it’s that I’m not so cool with.

Its effectively six degrees of cock; their hands, the toilet door handle, my hand, my sandwich for lunch, my mouth.

Clearly strategically placed reminders don’t make a blind bit of difference for these guys so I am advocating some shock treatment to get the message through. Hey if they can do it with cigarette packs why not the back of toilet doors:


And yes; I had to Google some very fruity phrases to find such and image. I only hope Internal Affairs weren’t noting down my IP address as I did so....