Urinals and Angry Chimp

Angry Chimp is perplexed, he jumps about from branch to branch scratching his noggin' and looking pained. He just don't get it.



"Why?"

He thinks to his crazy semi-evolved hirsute self.

"Why do they do it?"

Angry Chimp wants to cry out in desperation but he can't because the tears that come are only tears of rage, such is the tragedy of being Angry Chimp.

Instead he tears chunks of fur from his body and hits himself in the face with a not quite ripe cantaloupe.

I need to step in I think. I need to help Angry Chimp because anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering... and the one that suffers most is typically me.

I take Angry Chimp by the arms and look him in the eye and say as calmly as possible so as to not push him over the edge, for the edge is a place Angry Chimp does not want to return to;

"What's your fucking problem you mental primate?"

And he settles, just for a moment and I see sadness in his eyes for the first time since we became acquainted (A tale to furry to tell right now).

"Why Herge?...why do you, my hairless cousins slash up against the wall next to one another when you have big evolved brains, fly zippers and a pair of those quaint retractable thumbs that I dig so much?"

I fall back away from Angry Chimp as panic grips me.

What do I say? How can I defend the indefensible?

How do I explain to Angry Chimp who I've always looked down on for being nothing more than an irrationally fuming simian, that in this society in which sharing and exploring one another's emotions, fears, desires is unacceptable but to talk about football, the weather and Pete Doherty whilst pointing your penis at stainless steel or porcelain in full view of one another is not just perfectly acceptable but absolutely expected.

There is no explanation so I get defensive instead, the first response of homo sapiens in peril.

"Actually it's really only fifty percent of the population that does that..."

I say to Angry Chimp,

"The male of the species, like me."

And I point at myself,

"And do you know what else?"

I ask Angry Chimp.

Angry Chimp shakes his head for he does not know because he is seething not psychic.

"I always try to avoid the urinal and go for the cubicle instead."

Unfortunately I say this in the most pathetically simpering way that is possible.

Angry Chimp looks up at me, recoils in abject horror and without a moment of consideration says;

"What are you a fucking queer?"



I try to explain to Angry Chimp that not only is his statement tinged with homophobia and therefore unacceptable to my ears but the point of fact is there is nothing inherently wrong with using the cubicle.

"As it happens..."

I go on to say,

"I am always confused when I go to a busy toilet in the pub, at a gig, at work, in the train station, in the Vatican and find that all the urinals are taken but the cubicles are free"

Angry Chimp sits motionless now, just looking at me, intently.

"Why would anyone..."

I ask Angry Chimp in all seriousness,

"Choose to stand next to someone to micurate when they could do it in relative privacy instead?"

Angry Chimp gets to his feet, walks up to me and hits me across the face with his skiing glove.

I look puzzled.

Angry Chimp screams at me;

"Because they are men and you are a tit!"