Eco… eco…… eco…………

Eco… eco…… eco…………

Okay, so the log of the American trip fell through, but that was largely because I failed to stay regular, and then just lost momentum. Henceforth, I shall aim to make one deposit here a week. Largely because I’m putting in a serious effort to get rid of these Knight’s Atari t-shirts, and I want there to be something relatively recent on the site. Would you like a tshirt? Write us an article or do us a doodle or something.

Anyway, this weekend just gone, I stayed in a small ecovillage in Tipperary. It takes four trains to get there from Galway, where I live, so it’s not somewhere you’d just pop by. My reason for being there was that Knight’s Atari’s very own Jorge, of “Cooking with Jorge” infamy, was getting married to a lovely lass, from whom Jorge is probably keen to hide Knight’s Atari’s existence. The wedding was lovely, went with only one major hitch, etc. More importantly, there was a compost toilet in the ecovillage. I didn’t use it, because I had a perfectly satisfactory loo in my room, which had this amusing poster on the door:

However, I thought that you, dear reader, might be interested in the composting toilet. It was located far away from any dwelling, probably with good reason. There were a stack of black bags behind the shed – presumably full of “compost”, but I did not venture close enough to confirm that. The idea behind composting toilets is, for those of you with little imagination, to indirectly recycle your poop into food. Humus, specifically. So if you think that stuff people dip their carrots in tastes like crap, you could be right. Composting toilets generally use very little water, which is important in places where water is scarce, like Ireland. An average toilet flush uses about six litres of water, and involves passing along an intricate system of sewers and pipes like Super Mario, before finally being flung out into the sea. So there is certainly some logic to instead storing your poop in a bag and using it to fertilize your lawn.
                                                                                                  
This particular composting toilet was of the sawdust variety – where you add sawdust to your deposit to help aerate the store, increase the carbon to nitrogen ratio, and reduce potential odor. There was, indeed, no smell in the loo, though I suspect this was more through a lack of use than anything else. I would imagine the novelty of a composting toilet wears off fairly rapidly, and then you end up using it just to make a point. And personally, whenever I try to bring a political agenda into my defecation, I find it detracts from the relaxation of mind and sphincter that should generally be associated with pooping. Some people seem to persevere though.

                                                                                       
So the floor is dusty and covered in sawdust, but the facility seems relatively hygienic apart from the lack of soap and a sink, and apparently an occasional lack of toilet paper. They have also helpfully nailed the toilet seat shut, because we’ve all had those days, when you’re genuinely concerned about whatever you’ve just dropped down the toilet trying to crawl back out.
                                                                                                
Just as I was exiting the facility, I decided to take a peek behind the door, and what did I see?

Another toilet!
Sitting directly facing the other one. While there is a small chance that they only have one toilet available for use at a time, to allow the compost room to breathe, or that the two toilets can perhaps be used simultaneously as urinals, it is far more entertaining to imagine two dedicated ecovillagers sitting there, staring into each other’s eyes as they did their bit for the environment. That requires true devotion. I have given it some thought, and I cannot think of one person with whom I would wish to be in that situation – not even ScarJo* or Stevie Wonder**. Who would you sit and shit with?

Someone I mentioned it to speculated that the second toilet was for use in emergencies, but I can’t imagine being ensconced on the throne and hearing someone yell “I’M COMING IN – I’VE GOT AN EMERGENCY!!”, or the succeeding events, would endear me to anyone.

I have not rated a toilet in a while, but…

Lighting: Natural light only.
Ergonomics: Poor
Aesthetics: Excellent
Capacity: 1 or 2.
Privacy: That depends.
Cleanliness: 36
Phone signal: Okay, considering it was Tipperary.
Post-use feeling of righteous superiority: Excellent.

In conclusion, would not recommend except as a potential date with that really hot smelly vegan chick from your yoga class.

*Scarlett Johansson – 21st century actress of unspeakable beauty. Famed for such roles as Natasha Romanoff in the Avengers series of movies, Molly Pruit in the third and worst of the seventy-six “Home Alone” movies,  and most notably, kicking off the career of co-star Bill Murray, with the opening shot of her arse in the otherwise unremarkable “Lost in Translation”.

**21st century musician – famous for his odourless flatulence.
Nice shoes…

Nice shoes…

Another door, but I visited no facilities today to which I will not return, so you’ve missed nothing. This brief remark is on the obscenely large gaps under cubicle doors in America. The gaps between the door and the frame are also extra-large, which is good news for all of our readers, who are perverts. I feel that comma is appropriate.
Our Berkeley accommodation last year, had, for some reason, a cubicle which you could see right into if you stood at the urinal beside it. I’ll try to locate a photo.
I should possibly have included something here for scale, but you’ll have to trust me – this is a really big gap. I always thought they were ridiculous, until that time last year when I could not unlock the cubicle I was in. Had brute force not eventually worked, I would have had to call for help or crawl…

On Hooks

On Hooks

Not all my photos will be of doors – but these highlight an important issue which many people seemingly forget when kitting out their toilet cubicles. The first picture is a loo door in Dublin Airport, the second in Heathrow, and the third in San Francisco. The third picture is less satisfactory than what I was trying to photograph, so I will focus on the first two pictures. Can you spot the difference?
I’ll give you a minute.

Well done!
Yes, there are at least two bags on the hook in the right picture, while in the other, those same bags are presumably balanced on my head, because that hook isn’t going to hold anything with any degree of reliability, and especially in an airport, your bags must go absolutely everywhere with you and there’s piss on the floor.
Some loos provide no hook at all, and are unworthy of review.

Home Is Where The Fart Is

Home Is Where The Fart Is

This is it.
On the other side of that door lie seventeen days of latrinal uncertainty.
Here I am, in the comfort of my own bathroom, the lock on the door purely symbolic, preparing myself for a voyage and a lack of reliable bathroom breaks.
For your pleasure and disgust and erudition, I will once more turn my hand to chronicling some of the pit stops during my travels. It has been a while, but perhaps it is like learning to ride an elephant. I regret not keeping a better log of last year’s sojourn across the ocean; the bears, the breasts, the fire, the blockages, the great escape…
Perhaps, if I risk falling short of my 150-word quota, I will share these anecdotes with you.

For now, I sit here and ponder the same question every traveller must before embarking on a long journey – when did I last poop?

– Your Man on the Can

How To Unblock A Toilet

How To Unblock A Toilet

Editors’ Note: In this article, for the first time ever, Knight’s Atari have taken heed of our readers’ repeated complaints about our “f*cking asterisks”, and provided convenient links between the text and footnotes. Your feedback matters to us.
  

As the honeymoon period of living with new housemates gradually wears off, many of you will start to find that the blocked toilet becomes harder and harder to ignore. Since all the cool social justice warriors are poorly driving the feminism bandwagon these days, I’ll start this article with a nod to gender equality*, and even a footnote for the gays, before subtly segueing into some permutation of whatever other doubtlessly salient points I have to make on the subject of unblocking a toilet.

76% of blocked toilets on campus are caused by males. Males are bigger, therefore they eat more and make bigger poops. On top of that, literally, they add more toilet paper because they invariably have more hirsute arses which are more difficult to wipe clean and deshitnuggetify.** I’m sorry, gender quota advocates, but that’s just the way it is. 83% of people of who poo on the bathroom floor instead of in the toilet are female or Asian, if that helps. Another oft unaddressed issue is that a man’s eye can distinguish between fewer colours than a woman’s can, especially in dimly lit public bathrooms, so while a woman in her cubicle, squinting at the toilet paper, can see as the afterwipe colour changes through Intense Chestnut, Hazelnut Truffle,  Leather Satchel, Muted Mocha, Perfectly Taupe, Gentle Fawn, Elderflower Tea, and white,*** a man must (obviously) err on the side of caution as he sees brown, brown, light brown, orange, yellow, yellow, looks white, looks white, probably is white, is almost definitely white but best give another wipe just to be sure… resulting in squandered toilet paper. I was amazed at how much toilet paper I saved when I would have my girlfriend or mother assess the colour of my pieces of toilet paper post-wipe, and probably used an average of six sheets of paper less than I otherwise would have.

Furthermore, we all know girls only defecate fairies and rainbows, which, given their ethereal nature, are not likely to cause obstruction. Instead, females’ toilet blockages are caused by flushed tampons, dead cats, pubic hair, and the swaddlings of toilet paper she buries her suffocated fairies and shame in.

Regardless of whatever form your genitalia may take, sometimes you just come home to find a bison**** has made use of your facilities, as captured in this sketch by Dr. Kevin.
bison

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Plop Trumps!

Plop Trumps!

After years of reviewing toilets, I am sometimes approached by random people in the street and asked – and I’m paraphrasing here – “Your Man on the Can, you sexy beast whose babies I only wish to avoid having through the responsible use of contraception and oral sex – you’ve been reviewing toilets for some years now – don’t you have an opinion on anything else?”. At this point, if memory serves, they lift up their t-shirts to reveal ample bosoms, and press themselves against me and look up at me with pleading eyes, as moist as the cork floorboards surrounding a leaky toilet caused by some fat fuck leaning too far to his right in an effort to wrest apart the entanglements of arse hair and dangleberries which bind his buttocks together. Read more

Eating Poo

Eating Poo

The Delectable(ish) Dare
It was New Year’s Day, 2013. I had spent the previous evening celebrating with my terrific friends in the back arse of nowhere, i.e. Co. Laois. We were, and still are, a very close group of friends who bonded over silliness and dirt. Ah yes, we girls loved getting dirty. But not like that! I mean plastered-in-so-much-mud-that-you’re-still-finding-it-dried-up-behind-your-ears-days-later type dirty. We actually find all the mud pretty cleansing… oddly enough.

It was that thought that drove us down the fields on that particular day (my friend, Ciara, is a farmer) to find a turlough. A turlough is a seasonal lake, and the upside of a wet winter! The one in Ciara’s field was a particular large one, and pretty deep too. Who knew what sort of filth lay beneath its brownish surface? Well, we did of course have a faint idea. Cow shit. And lots of it! And obviously this just made the whol

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