Flushed With Excitement

If there's one thing you can say about the people that run the Kansas City Irish Fest, it's that we're serious. We take the business of putting on the festival as seriously as if we were doing something important and meaningful, like invading another country or making sweeping national health care reforms. We are a somber, mirthless group, going about our tasks with military-like efficiency and a grim determination borne of years of thankless toil. So it should come as no surprise that our toilets have names.

You'll notice, when you go to take a wee-wee at Irish Fest this weekend, that about every third potty will have a moniker. And you may ask yourself as you relieve yourself, "why?" To which we answer, as we do to most things, "why not? Seemed like a good idea at the time." These particular shitehouse sobriquets were submitted by our staff, who clearly have way too much time on their hands. However, if you'd like to christen a crapper of your own, barring a public outcry next year we'll be opening this up to the public at large. Been looking for the perfect way to honor that special boss, mother-in-law or Irish Fest president? I can't think of a better way, but then I'm not very imaginative.

You know, let's not wait until next year. Let's have us a contest. If you have an outhouse honorific you'd like to bestow this year, this very weekend, email it to me. Since time is short, deadline is 5:00 PM today, Wednesday September 1st. I'll pick three at random and if yours is chosen you'll have your very own designated dumper. Keep them short-ish and clean-ish please. We are a family festival after all and somebody's grandma might be using this loo. Or me. A couple examples are below.

Okay, go. Speaking of going...I'll be right back. Too much toilet talk.