A return to the B-level men’s room

I dropped by the B-level men’s room* to see if that glorious stall of nerdiness was still evolving, and much to my delight, it is alive and well. Building upon the first 26 entries, the stall now features 40 pieces of philosophical wordplay, though the numbering system has gotten off-kilter, so the numbers only go up to 38. You can see the whole set, here.

I’ve also created a page for the B-level men’s room graffiti with all of the transcriptions and updates in one place for easy reference. And now, without further delay, posts #27-39.

27. Comte your sense, people, and put away your pens!

28. Holbach your marks, you’re going to ruin the Staël! (Addendum: I’ve been Habermas self a good time reading this.)

29. Jeez, it stinks in here. Can somebody turn the Fanon?

30. Thank you all, I really like having something to Reid Weil I’m on the toilet.

30. If only I Caird … but alas, I have no Hart. [Underneath and referencing 22-26]

31. Good thing I found this place; I’ve been Bordieut of my mind. (Addendum: I can’t take y’Althusser-iously … you Kant even spell.)

32. Don’t you guys think you should work on your Sch(p)elling?

33. Can this go on for much Langer?

34. Aw, don’t get all Ryled up.

35. I’ve been Turing all the library bathrooms and this one is definitely Laplace to be.

36. [Mostly erased] Each one … and I don’t want to start and B- … but I’m now going to UN … and Hobbes’le out of here.

36. Sounds like somebody’s enjoying the Bachelard life, eh? [Referencing #14]

37. I also disagree that this is the most Parsons-monious answer.

38. I Ayn(t) impressed with all these Rand(om) thoughts.

39. Jeez, it stinks in here. Can somebody turn the Fanon?

* As mentioned previously, that isn’t the usual gender bathrooms I use. I went before the library opened, and figured– like last time– that no one would come in. I closed the stall door to make it easier to take pictures– lucky for me, because as it happens, someone did come in while I was in the stall. Fortunately, I was standing (feet pointing the wrong direction) rather than kneeling, and I was looking at a picture when the door opened, rather than taking one. I’m short enough that my head didn’t show over the top of the door, and I decided to just freeze and hope the person didn’t notice my female-style shoes. Indeed, he came in, washed his hands, and left; if he did notice, he at least didn’t say anything.

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