Germopolis
This is utterly trivial, but I'm so jazzed on coffee, tea, and Krispy Kremes that I can't really order my head enough to articulate a particularly deep thought. But there's thing that bugs me - nasty old sponges.
Go to your sink. Pick up that sponge that's sitting there, ostensibly to clean with. Sniff it. NASTY! It's like a little germopolis, a gleaming urban center for germs. You're not cleaning anything off of anything with that filthy thing, nosirree Bob! I think of this at the moment because I just cleaned my coffee mug with the narsty sponge in the break room, and not only did my mug stink like fetid, rotting spongebob germtrousers -- but it stuck to my hands, too.
I went to the bathroom and washed my hands like a surgeon getting ready to do groin surgery on the President, and still that icky smell is emanating from my mitts. Yuck. Dirty rotten sponges! Yuck!
Go to your sink. Pick up that sponge that's sitting there, ostensibly to clean with. Sniff it. NASTY! It's like a little germopolis, a gleaming urban center for germs. You're not cleaning anything off of anything with that filthy thing, nosirree Bob! I think of this at the moment because I just cleaned my coffee mug with the narsty sponge in the break room, and not only did my mug stink like fetid, rotting spongebob germtrousers -- but it stuck to my hands, too.
I went to the bathroom and washed my hands like a surgeon getting ready to do groin surgery on the President, and still that icky smell is emanating from my mitts. Yuck. Dirty rotten sponges! Yuck!
