Guys, Just Spit Out The Answer
Wednesday - May 12, 2010
All right, heads up! For those of you who are looking to read something relevant or deep, I’m giving you fair warning right now. This week’s column has no redeeming political or social commentary or content. I am going to rant. Yes, I know it’s self-indulgent, but I really, really have to take a little time to ask this random and yet important question:
Why do men spit?
I have asked this question before - in vain. The last time I asked I received a surprising number of e-mails but no real answers. Most of them were from women who wondered the same thing and had their own disgusting stories to tell. And then there was the one guy who basically told me he would expectorate (my word, his was more vulgar) when and where he pleased and I should just shut up and go (fornicate) myself.
I ignored his suggestion. But once again, I am giving you, my wonderful readers, another chance to enlighten me because, well, let me describe what I witnessed today:
I was sitting in my car at a stoplight on Kapiolani, listening to my Adam Lambert CD and successfully resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to check my e-mail. Darn smartphones, they are the devil’s playthings. But I digress.
Anyway, idling in front of me was an older model pickup with peeling, bright blue paint. Suddenly the guy in the truck stuck his head out of the window. He wound up ... hawked ... and shot a wad of spittle in an impressive arc over the hood of the car beside him. It landed an entire lane away.
Ever heard of projectile vomiting? This was projectile spewing - well, you get the picture. Ugh.
And then he did it again. Once more the sputum hurtled through the air, and somehow landed even farther away than the first.
And then - by gross golly - he did it again!
Why? Just ... just ... why???
Was he practicing for a spitting contest?
Attempting to set a Guinness world record?
Was he trying to impress the girl sitting beside him? Ladies, come on. Would you kiss that guy? I really want to know.
Or - was he so full of phlegm that his body could not contain it any longer and had to forcefully eject it like some alien invader infection?
This, my friends, is one reason why I never, ever walk barefoot anywhere in public, even here in paradise. You never know when you’ll plant your foot on a gob of goo. I’d rather step on a bee.
So if you think you know the answer to my burning and yet completely irrelevant question, I would love to hear from you. I’m not judging (OK, maybe a little). I just really want to know.
E-mail this story | Print this page | Comments (0) | Archive | RSS Comments (0) |
Most Recent Comment(s):