Things That Are Better Than Elvis

We don't know what your neck of the woods is like, but round our way there has been vigorous galloping in many directions, and enthusiastic cries of tally-ho! have been heard all over the realm. There has been frantic activity, not all of it related to escaping homicidal horror-clowns. Amid all the confusion, Shewee Fiend Friend accidentally agreed with us on two things, one of which was music-related. We know. It was a shock for everyone involved. Right now we're having a metaphorical sit-down in the shade, panting feebly and guzzling reassuring amounts of gin.

Shewee Fiend Friend went to a diner in North America recently, and sent us pictures with helpful and enlightening captions. The toilets in the diner in question were reassuringly sex-segregated, meaning that Shewee Fiend Friend felt safe throughout her visit. We've talked quite a lot about the horror of forcing women to share intimate spaces with people who a) are on average significantly larger and stronger physically, and b) commit 98 % of all acts of sexual violence. However, we'd still like to take this opportunity to recommend this excellent summary on why mixed-sex toilets are awful for women by Woman's Place UK, and also this one by Holly Lawford Smith.

Allez, en piste! Shewee Fiend Friend writes:

Inside it was pretty cool. Lots of 50s shit

Every table had a personal jukebox
I played Video killed the radio star Not Elvis
The bathrooms. Phenomenal

You enter this little vestibule from which you can enter one of two toilets
 

If you look closely, you'll see women's is marked doubly
I like that

 Same for men's

 And in case it wasn't clear, the doors go to the floor

Very pleasant and reasonably clean. Above right was a sturdy coat hook

The joy of almost seeing people is present in this photo!

 The comforting reminder that employees must wash hands

(I don't know why Americans have these signs everywhere. I find it disquieting that employees need to be reminded)

And finally, just in case it wasn't clear

Wasn't that wonderful? We feel somehow safe and clean, which is how we like to be if at all possible.

A friend who we might refer to, for the sake of convenience and also accuracy, as Nerdy Beer Obsessive Friend, sent us this festive photo from a place in Helsingborg, Sweden, that provides culture for the people.

Mmm, let's have some more of that almost seeing people joy! Hurrah!

Now for a Jonny Babe Parade photo. For reasons to which we are not privy, Jonny is going through a Peaky Blinders phase. The result is most pleasing. We don't know where this photo was taken, and we also don't care.

Woof!

The thing about getting older is that one realises there are things that are better than Elvis. For instance, sex-segregated toilets. Also one realises that there are a fuckload of Elvis songs that other people did long before Elvis, and that are actually much better. Today's Festive Video is one example.

Festive Video: Big Mama Thornton, Hound Dog


Related Reading

An excellent summary of why mixed-sex toilets are awful for women, by Woman's Place UK:
Why Gender-Neutral Toilets Don't Work for Women 

Another excellent summary of the issue by Holly Lawford Smith:
Should Companies Install Gender Neutral Bathrooms?

Some previous Privy Counsel posts on the horror of mixed-sex toilets, which can be summarised with  the words a) NOBODY WANTS TO ELBOW THEIR WAY THROUGH A SEA OF BEARDED HIPSTERS TO GET TO THE SINK and also b) HARDEN THE FUCK UP AND GIVE THE WOMEN THEIR OWN FUCKING TOILET:

Divide [the Toilets] and Conquer [One of a Multitude of Aspects of Women's Subjugation to Male Violence]

"Let Them Eat Cake" - Could It Be Any More Obvious That a Man Designed These Toilets?
 
Stockholm Central Station: The Trauma Is So Great We Are Brought To Quoting Cicero

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend

All posts featuring Jonny

Five Fabulous (And Frightening) Years: The Story of the Privy Counsel

Our sincerest contrafibularities! We have no memory of what we were doing on the day (ranting, no doubt, and perhaps drinking rum - possibly at the same time), but the Privy Counsel turned five on 18 October!

Five years! If we had had cake to celebrate with, it would most likely have looked like this.

Things have been grim of late. So grim, in fact, that we have repeatedly felt the need to google pictures of syphilis symptoms, just to remind ourselves that there are things we don't suffer from (although one Privy Counsel member does in fact harbour a case of bona fide genital herpes - however, we intend to stay true to our promise to keep the identity of this person a secret to our dying day (said promise does not, obviously, prevent us from dropping tantalising hints solely for our own amusement)). There are some good ones, for instance, here (do a page search for "syphilis", then click on the links).

The marvellous thing, though, about having access to a loose collective of intellectuals, connected by social media, is that something wonderful is bound to turn up sooner or later.

This cake would also not be incongruous at the Privy Counsel.

Last night, for instance, we learned that Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend has an exciting new project on the go.

Also Australian Friend surpassed herself in rampant intellectualism and invented a new word! Quizzlement - you heard it here first! The definition of the adjective is as follows: "Quizzled. adj. The state of perplexed beguilement imposed by a person on her admirer, through an act of mischievous ambiguity."

Then we suddenly remembered that BLOODY HELL WE HAVE BEEN GOING FOR FIVE YEARS. Let us tell you the story of the origins of the Privy Counsel!

This totally appropriate cake just screams "THIS ONE! YES! LET'S HAVE IT!"

Once upon a time, there was a country full of crap plumbing. Let's call it "Britain". Said crap plumbing was the cause of a pretty much constant stream of grumbling, mumbling, and outright ranting. One night, in the pub, Enlightened Friend suggested that we stop ranting and start a blog, if only to spare our friends from having to constantly listen to us moaning and bitching. We thought the notion was an excellent one, and set to enthusiastically, publishing no less than three posts on the first day.

The first post was called, bravely, Mixer Taps - the Controversy, and was short but loquacious. It said, simply:

Most British people see no need for mixer taps, as when they do exist, they don't work anyway. The rest of the world disagrees. The controversy continues.

Huzzah - our very first image!

Blog post number two, sporting the witty title Toilet Paper - Puppy Love (setting the tone for our happy habit of punning in an unrestrained manner), discussed the insane British obsession with quilted toilet paper. This groundbreaking essay posed the question:

Where does the British obsession with soft toilet paper come from? Why does bog roll have to be quilted? (Of all things, why quilted?) Is it due to the humiliations suffered during the Second World War, when millions of Britons were forced to keep a stiff upper lip while wiping their bottoms with newspaper?

FUCK OFF, PUPPIES.

The third blog post on this auspicious date, The Victorians - An Edifying History Lesson, described the Victorians as "a barbaric people who delighted in such unhygienic and downright dangerous practices as sideburn cultivation, wall-to-wall carpet installation, and lace-curtain twitching". Needless to say, this is now the standard view of the Victorians in all respectable academic circles.

Victorian toilets - pretty, but violently unsound.

After these initial - one could even say probing - posts, we moved swiftly on to reviews of museum toilets, starting with the Yorkshire Museum. We remember lurking nervously with the huge, clunky and LOUD camera we used to carry around in those days, on a wet October day. 

Mission accomplished without us being reported to the police or even, surprisingly, being openly accused of being perverts, we continued with the Castle Museum, where we spotted what is possibly the most amusing sign in the entire universe; a sign that perfectly summarises the unbridled lunacy of British plumbing:  

This sign unfortunately doesn't exist anymore.
Believe us, we have been back to check.

Pretty soon we were reviewing places like the disabled toilet at the Centre for Medieval Studies in York, and it didn't take long before we achieved legendary status among the depraved, the socially awkward, and the intellectual (i.e. our friends, and maybe five other people who clearly need to get off the internet and get a life).

We noted happily that this was "a toilet fit for Medievalists".

And now we've been at it for five years!

When we started this blog, it was specifically to rant about crap plumbing, because Privy Counsel HQ was situated in the UK, where people seem have a hard time realising that the 19th century like, ENDED. Now that we are more Scandiwegian-oriented, we have very little to complain about, plumbing-wise, and have taken to rant more about other things, like feminism. It appears that human rights is another area where people have a hard time realising that the 19th century ended and that we are, in fact, living in the 21st century now. It would be nice, we think, if everyone could at least step into the 20th century, both in terms of plumbing, and human rights.

We would like to take this opportunity of getting embarrassingly sentimental, weepy, and vapid, and expressing our heartfelt thanks to all our friends and comrades! Some of you have been with us from the start, some have joined along the way. Without the Privy Counsel Friends (and assorted cronies, hangers-on, and passive bystanders) sending us toilet photos, ranting with us, and dispatching emergency pictures of Elvis when times get tough, this bog blog really would not be possible.

Now, let's have a festive video before we embarrass ourselves further. We've had this one in a previous post, but really, can you ever get enough rum? Well, quite.

Festive video - Brothers Osborne, Rum

Hasta la vista!

Ask Not for Whom the Bog Rolls

We know, we know. We go on and on about our friends, and shamelessly steal words that they have written and post them on our toilet blog, as if that were an honour. Well, the truth is that without our various cronies, there would be no bog blog. Our comrades send us photos from all over the globe, offer us advice on moral dilemmas, and keep us amused with the stories of their fuck-ups and debacles. Many of them are also good, honest people. The other day we were pondering the lives and deeds of our various bosom buddies, and feeling very smug about what a favourable light their endeavours shine on us.

There is the friend who gets incessant promotions at work, the one who is going off to work on a reproductive rights expedition, the one who used to volunteer at Planned Parenthood, the one who campaigns tirelessly for the rights of her people, the ones who have had to flee their homeland and are pursuing their dreams in a foreign country with a new language, all the ones who are rampantly intellectual in a wide variety of fields - we could go on all day. 

It is our ambition, however, not to bore our readers to death, and so we content ourselves with saying that we hugely enjoy basking in this nuclear-meltdown-strength reflected glory. Keep up the good work, everyone!

We also enjoy receiving messages and photos from all the various chums who make up the Privy Counsel Collective. Indeed, there has recently been, to borrow a plumbing metaphor, a veritable flood of communications, and we have acquired more toilet photos than we know what to safely do with. Since our archive is prone to becoming crammed, unnavigable and downright dangerous, our legal advisory team has instructed us to get a few of the recent ones published before they, too, disappear into the vast cavern that is the Privy Counsel Archive.

Lo, a contribution from Bogsley Hansson Friend:

We've said it before and we'll say it again: HUNKA-HUNKA!

Read more amusing toilet signs here.

Bogsley Hansson Friend says, on our asking (needlessly, you might think), whether the photos are from a toilet: 

[The Elvis picture is] near by. All in a restaurant had lunch at in Cannon beach [read all about it here]. Where sent the previous pics from. The sign was in the actual toilet though.

Bogsley Hansson Friend has rather a talent for having lunch in interesting places, and finding fascinating toilets. (He is also hugely well-read and very generous, but his flair for toilet photography is what mostly benefits our regular readers.)

This delightful trawl through our personal correspondence does not end there! Behold, an almost painfully intellectual epistle from Uncle Sean:

We were recently in Key West, where, in a span of 10 years Ernest Hemingway wrote 70% of his literary output. His output of a different sort would have occurred here in his studio's loo.

*tries to think of Hemingway-related pun, fails*
If you enjoy celebrity toilets, have a gander at our  Celebrity Toilets label.
Or check out Johann Sebastian Bach's bog!

Uncle Sean continues: 

This one is from Seattle in a now defunct hotel in Chinatown (now an exhibit in the Wing Luke Museum) where over 100 years ago there was one loo per floor - crammed in the closet like a metaphor for the Chinese-American experience in the U.S. during the long lasting and racist era leading up to and spanning the Chinese Exclusion Act.

See what we mean about the rampant intellectualism and learning of our friends?

According to the internet, Hemingway "once took a urinal home from his favorite bar and moved it into his home, arguing that he had 'pissed away' so much of his money into the urinal that he owned it".

On that inspiring note, let's acknowledge the fact that we've been busy as fuck lately by eating anti-social amounts of garlic, and fantasising about going on a Thelma and Louise-style road-trip to the south of France, by no means excluding the possibility of involving Richard Armitage in our doom-filled quest for freedom.

Today's festive video is a contribution from Norwegian Friend. It's from the very first Norwegian TV broadcast ever, in 1960, and is possibly the most festive thing we have ever seen! You're welcome.

Festive video - Nora Brockstedt and Deep River Boys, Voi Voi


Related Reading
All posts featuring Bogsley Hansson Friend
All posts featuring Uncle Sean
All posts featuring celebrity toilets

Cannon Fodder

As Obsessive Emmerdale Friend so perceptively said, the other day, "You're doing too much again, aren't you?" Things have indeed been moving at a rock'n'roll kind of pace at the Counsel, and pretty much everywhere else too, as far as we can tell. Everyone's busy as a[n] [insert animal of choice], and feeling the need to have a whisky and a lie-down.

It's lucky, then, that Bogsley Hansson Friend has been on a photographic journey, and has sent us a shitload of beautiful pictures with which to delight and edify us all! This means that we don't have to write more words than necessary, but can get on with rocking and rolling. And also reeling.

Bogsley Hansson Friend writes:

Some pics from a recent trip to the Oregon coast. Fancy bathroom art. This is in Cannon Beach which is just down the coast from where they shot The Goonies.

We don't actually intend to say a hell of a lot else. A picture says more than a thousand words, they say. Enjoy the silence!

(Don't miss our more than usually festive festive video at the bottom, however.)

Bogsley Hansson Friend visited this charming place, where he ordered
"fish and chips. With garlic bread which I think is an Oregon coast thing.
Supposed to dip it in the chowder I guess".
We were treated to a picture of this meal, and absolutely scrumptious it looked, too!
Arrrrrr!

We're huffin' and puffin' with delight!

We're fucked if we know what this is.
Some species of observatory?
Either way, it's got paper towels
in it, of which we approve,
and a bin, of which we also approve.

This is festive, what?

Boglsey Hansson Friend is nothing
if not considerate - it's a massive
bag of wine!

"What the hell is that, then?"
one thinks to oneself.

WOOF!

Now then, now then. When did we last do a feminist anthem? We can't remember, so let's have one sharpish.

Festive video - Lesley Gore, You don't own me

Lesley Gore kicked a massive amount of arse in her lifetime. She once told Ms. Magazine that,

As a child I wanted to sing at Carnegie Hall, so I practiced singing behind the closed bedroom door, in front of the full-length mirror, with a hairbrush as my microphone. Behind that closed door, I slicked my hair back in a fairly credible Elvis imitation. I’m sure many of us did. But when I finally walked out onstage — in the spring of 1963, I was 16 — I went dressed like a nice little girl and performed as I was expected to.

Ave atque vale, Lesley.

Related Reading
All posts from Bogsley Hansson Friend
Another seaside toilet: By the Sea - A Toilet Blogger's Holiday
Another photographic journey: Norwegian Wood

Of Mixer Taps and Spiritual Solace

Are you in need of spiritual solace? We're in need of spiritual solace - fuckloads of it.

We read somewhere that a helpful response to things being vile beyond measure is to force oneself to feel grateful. Apparently, according to the article we read once on the internet, the human mind is neurologically unable to feel gratitude and other emotions (like irritation, say, or plumbing-induced spine-chilling horror) simultaneously. Kind of like how, if you get one of the academics in your life to bore on and on about their favourite topic, they will be unable to simultaneously bore on and on about other topics. (Yeah, shit simile, we know. It's been a long day. On this subject we have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer.)

Anyway. We're lucky in not having to think long and hard about things to be grateful for, belonging as we do to the category of people who are quite often overcome with untimely and sometimes inconvenient gratitude. (If you've ever seen us drunk, you will know what we mean.)
Apart from being constantly, non-stop, round-the-clock grateful* - to the point where we know for a fact that people have believed us to be a bit retarded - for having access to functioning plumbing and cholera-free water, we can quite often be found, when not frantically busy with academic and other endeavours, musing on the awesomeness and kick-arse-ness of our friends.
Today, for instance, on the train, we found ourselves reminiscing about a lovely weekend we spent at Mr and Mrs Smith's house, and smiling - yes! Actually! Smiling! On a commuter train stuck in the arse-end of nowhere due to a signal failure on the kind of day that you fear to tell small children about lest they develop permanent trauma and a debilitating stutter - at the thought of the zing, joie-de-vivre and well-stocked booze cabinet of Mr and Mrs Smith.

Do you know Mrs and Mrs Smith? If not, let us enlighten you. Mr and Mrs Smith live in a house filled to the rafters with fantastic and functioning bathrooms, cheese, cocktail shakers, and lovely, lovely wine. They like having people round, and cooking awesome food, and they're totally fucking delightful people to hang out with. Is having such friends reason to be grateful? We'd say so.

Mr and Mrs Smith have, if we remember rightly, three bathrooms in their house, and very grand and mixer-tap-enriched they are, too. The one we found ourselves thinking fondly of today, however, on the cursed commuter train, was the little downstairs bathroom, tucked away near the back door, the one with all the shoes and wellies in it.

*except, of course, when in the UK. Let us on no account cease to be appalled and horrified by British plumbing.

THERE ARE POLKA DOTS ON THE BLIND

So much loveliness!

Mixer tap, lovely soap and even lovelier lotion! 
It's like a waterfall of spiritual solace washing over your soul!

Another nice thing that happened today, apart from us reliving pleasant memories of Mr and Mrs Smith's bathroom on the train, was that not one bus driver but two bus drivers were very nice to us. Two! God, we love bus drivers! Oooh, actually, did we mention that we met a lovely coach driver named Tony on a coach trip to Bath this summer? Awesome dude! Let's all be collectively grateful for all the nice bus drivers out there!

[We pause here for a couple of seconds to give you all time to run screaming for the hills.]

Because they're some of our favourite things and we fucking well deserve it: A divine mix of Father Ted and Elvis!

Festive video - Father Ted, Rock of Ages

Related Reading
If you, too, are appalled and horrified by British plumbing, you may find solace here:
Les Conduites Dangereuses - For Once It's Not Just Us Ranting
All posts about Mr Smith and Mrs Smith
Philosophy can, or so we've heard, offer spiritual solace: De Consolatio Philosophiae
If you are in need of some unbridled joy, get it here: Unbridled Joy

When a Voice Behind Me Whispered Low, “That Fellow's Got to Swing” - Australian Friend Visits Beechworth Gaol

Sometimes the suffocating angst of existence gets too much, and one has to remind oneself that it could, actually, be worse. Personally we like to perform this philosophical exercise while banging our head on the table and/or consuming alcohol, but other methods reportedly work just as well. If one happens not to be in jail, for instance, one may meditate on the joys of comparative freedom. Likewise, if one has access to plumbing, that is one mega reason for being grateful. Truth be told, if you are blessed with adequate sanitation, you're pretty damn lucky.

Australian Friend visited Beechworth Gaol some time ago, and kindly sent us pictures, along with this rousing description:

A selection of toilets from Beechworth Gaol! Toilets were only installed at the prison in 1993. Prior to that, there was no plumbing whatsoever, and prisoners had a bucket for a toilet, a bucket for washing, and a bucket for drinking (per prisoner). It was pitch black at night, and cells were overcrowded. You can imagine the state of the buckets. 

Now, this gaol was one of the toughest prisons in Victoria, and was colloquially known as the Beechworth Breaker (prisoners were often sent here to have their spirits broken). It was the site of eight hangings (one of whom sounded like an innocent man). Our beloved Ned Kelly was imprisoned here, as was his mother (they were an Irish Catholic working class family bullied by the English Protestant police force, after one of the coppers tried to rape Ned's 13 year-old sister and his mother tried to protect her daughter by hitting the cop with a cast iron frying pan... it's a long story). 

Ok so the OTHER thing you will like to hear is that our beloved Chopper Read spent time in the Beechworth Breaker, and his best friend was the prisoner in charge of the gaol kitchen. There have been ghost sightings and hearings (seems to be an 1800s prison guard who never clocked off) but sadly I didn't manage to capture anything paranormal in my photos. 

 The toilet that is a hole in the ground is the one from solitary confinement.

This would have been an excellent opportunity for the zealous 19th-century prison guard to appear in the mirror. Alas.
Australian Friend says: "This was the nicest, most spacious bathroom in the prison."

Does one's eye spy a dual flush? 

One notes the toilet roll holder with approval

Australian Friend: "Solitary confinement: at least you get your own toilet!"

Australian Friend: "A typical cell and its accoutrements"
Privy Counsellor: "MIXER TAP."

Let us feast our eyes on the prison mixer tap.

Actually, these toilets seem pretty damn adequate in terms of being functional. Since Beechworth Gaol is now a museum, one has of course no inkling of any smells which may have once haunted the place along with the various ghosts, but at least each cell has its own crapper. If you've seen Orange is the New Black, you will know that having one's own toilet is a luxury, and further that hygienic conditions at Riverhead correctional facility in Suffolk County, New York, are appalling.

However, let us stay with Beechworth Gaol a bit longer. This is where we once again stray into the territory of the epistolary novel (see previous epistolary posts here and here): below is an extract from a communicative online exchange between us and Australian Friend. (Please not that it has been heavily censored and edited and may therefore come across as more incoherent even than it was to begin with.)

Privy Counsellor: [Australian Friend] my gal, you are a true friend. THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart.

Australian Friend: I risked attack by ghost!

it was so sad we saw the gallows

and this prisoner (he was quite handsome) chose his last words to be "As god is my witness I am an innocent man". I wanted to send him a supernatural hug. 

Ned Kelly didn't say that! 

he said "Such is life" 

they were such arseholes to Ned 

THEY ONLY JUST GAVE HIM A PROPER BURIAL, LAST WEEK 

he died over a hundred years ago 

and someone stole his head from the Old Melbourne Gaol, and nobody knows who's got it.

[...] oh my gosh! I'm looking at a paranormal website and they're talking about how a lot of people have been fainting on the tours through Beechworth Gaol, and it's been at the gallows 

"We have had a spate of people fainting or near fainting at or near the gallows where 8 were hanged. I thought initially it was the heat, but the gaol was only about 25 degrees inside. Today inside the gaol just 16 degrees and yet another went down.  Just a few steps from the gallows and a girl about 20 went out like a light, with no warning whatsoever. This makes 9 people since Sunday. Is this just a pure coincidence, or is something going on here. Your thoughts please."

 *just registering with paranormal chat room so I can comment*

[...] I stumbled through the town, as one might stumble through the Australian landscape, when one's untied horse has absconded 

and at one point found myself in a B-grade museum, where I saw many badly taxidermied animals. 

many of which were endangered and/or extinct species 

*fuck you, English colonists*

On that rebellious note of anti-colonial sentiment, let's finish with a festive video.

You knew what was coming, didn't you?



Festive video: Elvis Presley, Jailhouse Rock

Related Reading

All previous posts in which we mention Chopper Read or the mantra Harden the Fuck Up:
A Festive Update
HTFU, Melbourne City Council!
Pushing for Cultural Diversity (Australian Friend was instrumental in creating this post - thank you, Australian Friend!)
HTFU - Wipe for Wildlife
Toilet Paper - It's Time to HTFU

Random rad stuff from Australia:
Why Today Is a Toiletally Important Day
Happy Birthday, Australian Friend!

Another instance of our lackadaisical quotation from dead English poets:
Ah! well-a-day!

To Be Or Not to Be - A Loo So Existential It Doesn't Even Exist

Our habit of posting pictures of persons tending to their hygiene in a positive, informative way has rendered us susceptible to piques. On our insisting that the Privy-Counsel Pin-Ups are "TASTEFULLY semi-naked [men in bathrooms]", Tudor Friend replied, sardonically, "We all tell ourselves what we need to, in order to sleep at night".

Following up on this, we thought we'd post something a) philosophical, and b) scientific, just to prove our academic credibility, to those who may doubt it. Let's start with the philosophical item, to establish our rampant cultivation. German Friend, ever philosophical, ever vigilant, spotted an exciting sign in Covent Garden saying "Loo of the year". Our intrepid Teutonic friend naturally strode forth to investigate, only to discover that the loo was not.

I had a rather solo-festive (festive!) weekend here, mainly treating myself. Ahoi!

I mingled with the touristy masses in Central London. And as I needed to see a man about a dog I found a potential entry to the vault of lavatories.

"Loo of the year"!! I mean, "Loo of the year"!!!!

And then it doesn't even exist... How can I ever bring my self to urinate again when it can't be done on the "Loo of the year"!?

You tell me.

An inciting sign to get one's blood up:
"Loo of the Year"

Promising!
But actually, avoid Jubilee Market if you need to see a man about a dog!

Disappointing!
Sign says: "There are no public toilets in this market.
The nearest are next door to St Paul's Church in the Piazza."

In toilet-related news from the science world, behold, the colonoscopy-replacing camera!

Ain't it a beaut!
Image from news.discovery.com

This nifty gadget can, when swallowed, take high-quality pictures of your insides, allowing doctors to analyse what's troubling them. "Patients will neither get shafted in the rear end nor their wallets", according to an article that a close acquaintance sent us.

For more high-quality images (not of someone's innards), see tomorrow's exuberantly romantic post!

Finally, let's have a festive video!

Festive video: Mojo Nixon and Skid Roper, (619) 239-KING. "Call me, Elvis!"

Related Reading
The Existentialist Toilet Is, Perhaps, Here
Privy Counsel Pin-Up - Now with 50 % Less Creepiness
Dread, Rage, and Out-of-Order Urinals
The Spirit of Christmas: Urinals, Mixer-Taps, Relief
Privy Counsel Pin-Up: James Purefoy

On the Importance of Hygiene. And Elvis.

There's not been enough levity recently. It's been all seriousness, incontinence, crinolines, and a woeful lack of female urinals. There's other deplorable stuff going on outside Privy Counsel HQ as well, like literary theory, and sports. Frankly, the world is a sorry mess. What we all need more of more of in grim times like these is Elvis. More Elvis everywhere. Time for a Privy Counsel Pin-Up!

From what we've heard, Elvis was very into hygiene.
image from pinimg.com.

Elvis displaying a laudable interest in cleanliness.
Image from tumblr.com.

If you like the idea of a film featuring Elvis tending to his hygiene,
Live a little, love a little is apparently a good one.
Image from elvisinfonet.com.

Another good hygiene propaganda film is G.I. Blues.
Image from elvisinfonet.com.

We have vowed not to rest until we have one of these installed
at the Privy Counsel headquarters.
Image from blogspot.com.

We have no idea what is going on here, and are frankly a bit alarmed.
But the duck seems friendly, and Elvis looks clean.
Image from blingee.com

Let's have a festive video!


Festive video: Mojo Nixon, Elvis is Everywhere

Related Reading
Handwashing with Elvis
Toilet Song: Dirty, Dirty Feeling
A Completely Bathroom-Related Post
Privy Counsel Pin-Up: Elvis (The Day After the Night Before Pick-Me-Up)

Privy Counsel Pin-Up: Elvis! Again!

Who Knew That Going to the Toilet Could Be So Dangerous?

Another interesting shower curtain: Delirium Tremens: We Indulge in Paranoid Halloween Horror