Pee Papparazzo

After skateboarding to work on this beautiful Friday afternoon, I decided a trip to the men's room was in order. The KGO restrooms are the standard fare; the men's is a urine-soaked purgatory covered in plaque-colored tiling, while the lady's is a richly carpeted Xanadu, scented with a potpourri of extinct flowers and attended by towel-and-mint-wielding attendants.

I opted for the bathroom on the main floor, as it is located near the worker's lounge where I could warm up a bowl of my latest crock pot stew ("I Can't Believe It's Not Poison") whilst I was hosing the porcelain. So as I was tending to my business, somebody took up residence at the adjoining urinal.
As per the time-honored Code of Men, I did the standard half glance over and half nod, which is a gesture meant to convey "Hey there... I hope you have an enjoyable time pissing next to me for the next 15 seconds but don't get any ideas" through one manly bit of body language.

This is what I saw.

I have to stop using this restroom. There are far too many strange guests of our afternoon show running happily about. Two weeks ago I peed next to Jimmy Carter.

Perhaps I could author a coffee table book consisting solely of close-ups of the sides of celebrities' faces, all of whom are taking a leak and trying to ignore me. "Pissing Greatness: My Career In Television"