Pat: Welcome to Chizvestigations. I wish Chiz would reconsider the title to this program, but he’s a problematic drinker and difficult to work with, so it’s best not to dispute his astonishingly poor decision-making. I’m you’re host Pat. On today’s episode, we have a very special guest. Our guest, who—in order to protect is identity—will be referred to by his movement’s common alias, is making waves in the bathroom stall writing and graffiti community. Please give a warm welcome to Stallist, everyone.
Stallist: Thanks, Pat. I’m glad Stallism is finally getting the recognition it deserves.
The ever resourceful 'Your Mom' verse.
Pat: Now, let me stop you already. The audience is most likely unfamiliar with this term Stallism. Is it possible for you to break down the philosophies of this movement?
Stallist: Well, Pat, this is much more than just a movement. It’s an ideology, a complex system of meaningful expressions depicted in a public forum. What makes Stallism so influential is that these couplets, scrawls, evocative verses are all forced upon people while they’re most vulnerable, when they’re sitting bare on the porcelain throne.
Pat: Intriguing, to say the least. Have there been any past or present Stallists that have influenced your work?
Stallist: We can’t talk about Stallism without first mentioning its forefather, Dick Clark.
Pat: Dick Clark? I never knew.
Stallist: Not many do. It was 1952 when Dick Clark scrawled his signature tag—the single-stroke penis—in the stalls of the America Bandstand studio. Mimicked by the long line of successors, these penises became more complex over the years. Nowadays, stalls can be seen decorated with elaborate portraits of dicks complete with lifelike veins, drooping testicles, and even realistic curvature.
Pat: Wow. Truly remarkable. Now are these phallic tags a member of your arsenal of artistry?
Stallist: Though eloquent, I tend to celebrate the written aspect of Stallism. I became entranced with writing verses when I happened upon a magnificent piece by, who the Stallist community has dubbed, the Poop Guy. I’ll never forget the day I glanced up in relief of a massive poo and spotted his work:
May I compare thee to a summer’s poo?
A steaming pile of Taco Bell doo.
The Baja Blast turning the water blue,
And an aroma that I wish only you knew?
Pat: Incredible. I’d tear up, if only I hadn’t undergone that dangerous, superfluous eyelid transplant surgery forced upon me by the CEO of Chizvestigation. On another note, while I was in a bathroom stall before the show, I happened upon a piece scribbled on the stall’s wall. You wouldn’t perchance kno—
Stallist: The anarchist symbol? The one with “The government is as vacuous as the toilet you sit.”?
Pat: Yes. Why, how did you know?
Stallist: Psh, but it’s my art, of course. My specialty is enlightening bathroom dwellers to the corruption present within our society, within our government… within us. I strive for the deeper meaning of Stallism. One is more prone to think, when surrounded in their own stink.
Pat: A—amazing. I—I thank you so much for being with us today, Mister… er… Stallist. You’ve truly opened my eyes to this stimulating ideology, and I’m sure our audience feels the same. May your future endeavors surpass your vast list of current achievements.
Stallist: Thanks for having me, Pat. Now excuse me while I race to ornament the untainted stalls of the world.