Spirit Airlines Flight Delayed by Angel Reese Bathroom Mishap
CONNECTICUT — A Spirit Airlines flight from Connecticut to Chicago faced an unexpected delay Wednesday evening. This was due to an unusual postgame incident involving WNBA star Angel Reese. Despite being sidelined with a back injury during the Chicago Sky’s matchup against the Connecticut Sun at Mohegan Sun Arena, she reportedly managed to create what one passenger described as a “biohazard…
When #AH kicked the bathroom door into Johnny's head & then punched him in the jaw #Johnny's court testimony #Fairfax County Virginia #2022 #audio #Brian's #gif art
When #AH kicked the bathroom door into Johnny's head & then punched him in the jaw #AH court testimony #Fairfax County Virginia #2022 #audio #Brian's #gif art She gaslights the courtroom gallery, the judge, the jury & her own defense counsel
When #AH kicked the bathroom door into Johnny's head & then punched him in the jaw #court testimony #Fairfax County Virginia #2022 #audio #Brian's gif #art
HE was in the #bathroom & says "I opened the door when you (AH) were knocking on it."
As long as I can remember I’ve always been popular among men. There have been many debates on why, but nobody has been able to truly explain why. Maybe I put out a vibe, maybe men are just more forward than women about handsomeness.
I often forget that people are attracted to the same sex...or opposite sex for that matter. The results of my forgetfulness tends to leave me in situations with gay men who mistake my friendliness for flirting.
Some people just deserve to be punched in the face, but sometimes when met with the opportunity to open a can of whoop-ass appropriately you are overcome by shock and awkwardness.
One of my closest friends, Bob-O, and I were partaking in anti-prohibition at a bar we can be considered regulars at. Bob-O lives across the street, we’re there quite often. The night started our just like any other night, we walked in to cheers and hellos. After the normal round of hugs we nestled up to the bar in our usual manner.
We always have a blast in Noe’s, we reminisce about old stories, tell new ones and usually discuss the US Mens Soccer Team. The beer is always flowing and occasionally shots appear. A few cans, pints and bottles into the night I found myself in need of a visit to the bathroom.
For years social guys like myself have accepted the social standard of quietness and the antisocial atmosphere of the men’s room. Men don’t go in pairs, there is no continuation of conversation nor is the men’s room a place men go to strategize about women they just met at the current establishment. Instead men’s rooms are places of communist like gatherings, you just go in take care of business and leave; no eye contact and especially no words unless it’s with the attendant...and even then you have to tip him. Occasionally you break the rules and have a quick chat or more likely ask a rhetorical question. For me, when someone chats it up in there I always chat back. I like to converse and so far in life random conversations have yet to let me down.
This particular night, however, had another outcome in mind. When I walked into Noe’s men’s room that night I found myself followed by another guy. Nothing unusual about that, no strange occasion. I’m sad to admit that the normality of the night ended right there, the closing of that men’s room door on this particular night symbolized the final normal event of the night.
Public bathrooms aren’t supposed to be a hot place to hookup. There is only one thing someone should sit on in there, and it’s made of porcelain not flesh. Thanks to George Michael and Minneapolis-Saint Paul airport’s Larry Craig Stall, exposing yourself in a bathroom has lost its tabooness and has even evolved. It would seem as if public bathrooms are taking over as the easiest place to hookup.
The short, balding, blond man who followed me into the bathroom of one of my favorite bars in the world preyed on my weakness; conversation. I have no clue what we were chatting about, and in retrospect it seems pointless. Me standing over the urinal, him standing over the toilet we were engaged in conversation with just a stall divider separating us.
If relieving yourself was a race, I had won! I shook for an appropriate amount of time and washed my hands for an appropriate amount of time all while still engaged in meaningless conversation with a short balding stranger in the men’s room. As I was drying my hands it hit me, this is why we don’t chat it up in bathrooms! We don’t go in pairs and we don’t leave in pairs. I was ready to make my exit, but like Rumsfield and Bush I failed to plan my exit and now exiting unnoticed had become impossible.
I awkwardly waited for him to finish his sentence, and finally butting in to tell him I was heading back to the bar to drink with my buddies. I invited him to join us if he wanted and we could continue the conversation somewhere where we weren’t touching ourselves.
Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it. Let me recount the only part of the conversation I remember.
Me: Yeah that’s cool dude. I’m gonna head back to the bar and have some more drinks with my buddies. You can join us if you want, we can continue this conversation somewhere where we aren’t touching ourselves.
Short balding guy: Haha that sound’s like one way to continue the night; hold on just a sec.
Me: Uhhh yeah sure
The short balding guy was stepping out of the stall almost immediately, wiping his hands on his shirt
Short balding guy: It’s nice to meet you
Me: Yeah you too
He approached me with his hand out ready for a handshake...or so it seemed. What happened next has scarred me for life. To this day I make someone guard the door when I go into than men’s room. Instead of reaching for my hand, his hand found it’s way to my plums. He hand was full of my boys, both resting in his palm like Chinese Boading Balls. His hand just resting in full grip of my testicles. Shock had taken over my body and mind. What am I supposed to do?
In retrospect it’s easy to come up with ideas about what should have happened following my molestation. For example, the obvious punch to the face and the preceding can of whoop-ass would have been appropriate. But that didn’t happen. Even a turn of the head and cough would have lightened up the situation a bit. Nor did that happen. I could have said many things like:
That’s not the hand drier.
The paper towels are around back.
Don’t touch those, they’re my only pair.
If I were to even have pulled his hand off my jewels, I think I would have been satisfied. I figure when something like this is thrusted on you, you have two options; violence or comedy. Unfortunately a violent nor a comedic response was the way I instinctually responded. My fists slid up my ribcage, resting in my armpits while my elbows raised above my head. Our eyes were still locked together, I was finally able to break the gaze as I shamefully peered into the mirror. “Oh, Oh, O, OK,” was all I could manage to say. I walked away escaping what was one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned. Men DO NOT talk in restrooms, EVER!
I stumbled out and made my way to Bob-O. I confided in him about my recent men’s room molestation, my restroom fondle, the bathroom horror story. He busted out in laughter and disbelief! Imagine that confiding in one of your best friends about an attempted rape scenario where your most private of parts took center stage, and he laughed in disbelief. That bastard! Within seconds the short balding molesting toilet casanova had made his way to my stool. Shit...he rubbed my back and winked. Bob-O’s jaw dropped, “Oh SHIT,” he proclaimed, “that happened!”
The rest of the night became strange, nothing normal happened the rest of the night. I successfully avoided the molesting toilet casanova but not his winks.
I even met a lady who recognized one of my tattoos, Bob-O’s neighbor’s mother. She ended up crying on my shoulder recounting a story about how my stepfather helped get her son in rehab. As I was comforting my best friends neighbors mother I couldn’t help but wonder how my night had gone from an optimistic night out, to being molested, to comforting a lady about my stepfathers passing.
