Tainted with taint. Ew.

Dear friends,

Please can you conceal your bathroom reading materials in that cabinet by the toilet from now on?

When I visit your homes and, after much champagne of beers, am required to break the seal, I find it too difficult to resist the siren call of your bathroom reading materials. Why are you such interesting people? Why do you plumb the depths of wit and pornography so enticingly?

You have books like:

America: The Book.

The Ecstasy of Defeat: The Best of the Onion Sports.

Freakonomics.

George Carlin’s Brain Droppings.

Playboy.

Clearly, some of your reading materials have been selected to put me in a moral quandary. To sit or not to sit? That is the question.

And while I’m in the bathroom, laughing at the wit of John Stewart’s writing team or perusing the latest gadget review in Playboy, I’m thinking about how your hands, which were at some point grazing your unmentionables in this very spot, have also been all over these pages I am currently caressing.

Not to mention how many of your other degenerate friends have been over here doing the exact same thing I’m doing.

And if you have one of those reading racks installed by your toilet which is overflowing with everything from Brewer’s Phrase & Fable to the February 1987 issue of Reader’s Digest, I think you know how that makes me feel. Your toilet is not your office.

This is not the corporate pooquarters.

Look at that cabinet next to the toilet.

See how empty it is? Please. For the good of our friendship. Put’em books in there.

Sincerely,

Your friend, The Browmaster

You have nothing at stake here. Why not insult me?

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