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  Adam Epstein Epstein reminds you that Palmolive spelled backwards is "Evil Omlap." Coincidence? Discuss at eppyad@hotmail.com Click Here for more articles by Adam Epstein

Do you want answers?” “I think I’m entitled to them.” “You want answers?” “I want the truth!” “Then go to the bathroom and try to handle the truth!”

“Excuse me, what was that?”

Wanna get a finger or two on the proverbial pulse of the campus, tap into the academic zeitgeist of a collective of 30,000 and be exposed to some of the most brutally truthful, depraved, raw and blatantly controversial thoughts of a student body?

Well then, pound that 64 oz. Coke and inhale your Double Chili Beef Burrito Grande, because if you’re in the market for deep insights about the state of UCLA, you’re gonna have to take it sitting down.

On a toilet.

The random etchings, sketches, limericks and assorted scribbles found on the inside of UCLA’s bathroom stalls serve as the most widely available and uncensored expressions of students’ internal monologues. Often times, such deep convictions clash, leading to complex and heated dialogues between anonymous writers searching for the constipated truth. The clash of porcelain-sitting minds is something to behold.

The Socratic Method has never been more urinal fresh. Anyone who tells you otherwise is full of crap … or they just haven’t taken one in a while.

As it seems that UCLA has at least one bathroom on every floor of each building on campus, I doubt that even my most psychotically devoted reader would take the time to search out all of the tiled bastions of knowledge. Therefore, I present to you some of the more memorable, insightful and gosh darned poignant scrawl that I have come across during my various lower intestinal adventures.

The majority of lavatory rants that I encountered during my research dealt with our nation’s war on terrorism and the recent and tragic events in New York. A sampling of some of these perceptive and discerning “conversations,” pieced together in chronological order – “F%@k Osama, the Taliban, and all who oppose the war.”

“Look! A crazy fascist with George W’s d%#k in his mouth!”

“Voice of reason: Would the war end terrorism? Would no war stop it?”

“I need a cigarette.”

“All you North Americans are a bunch of f@#king morons!”

“Which leads to their dominating the world?”

“Does that include us Canadians?”

“F@#k Canada and its weak ass weed!”

“Weak weed is better than no weed, eh?”

“Cut your hair hippie!”

“These crotch drawings are amazing!”

“People that care about nationality are blind.”

“Justice is blind, you stupid pinko. Go back and play with your camels. Long live USA!”

“God I’m so horny!”

Wow! I knew UCLA had some witty and educated individuals moseying through its halls, but the profundity and breadth of these potty philosophers is nothing short of mind-boggling.

Keep in mind, too, that many of these phrases were not only written in some sort of pop-art, street gang tagging style, but were often both upside down and at a great distance from where the toilet bowl was located. We are obviously dealing with some freakishly agile and flexible poets, or as one latter-day Plato jotted, “I’m the clown who came to town, and wrote in this stall upside down.” Brilliant!

Then there are The Grouts, the devilishly clever displays of acumen that were lovingly written on the grout of a third-floor Powell rest room wall. Never has the creativity of the UCLA community been more apparent – Alexander the Grout, Grout Expectations, The Grout Gatsby, Grout Balls of Fire, the Grout Wall of China; these are a mere sampling of the washroom wit. Unfortunately, upon my return visit to the wall of Grouts, the writings had vanished, most likely scrubbed away by some uncouth and unappreciative janitor (or “genitor” as some nearby writings articulated it). Creativity was stifled yet again.

Some of the bathroom scribbles are so touching and profound, they have the ability to stand on their own. They are prime examples of the best UCLA has to offer. Take this pearl of wisdom left by a scholar known to the outside world as Tay Q. “The last man standing will ask if the game was worth the candle.” I cannot come up with words to describe how true that is.

This was brilliantly countered by Jizzman’s searing retort, “Just as you would not judge Ceaser (great use of artistic license) for Rome, you don’t judge a country for its government. If you want a one-world government, dial 66#.” I agree Jizzman! Or as your unnamed compatriot wrote in the next stall, “My balls are bigger than yours.” Amen to that.

What is one to take from this display of crapulence? The picture painted of UCLA based on the incoherent ramblings on bathroom stalls is clearer than just-flushed toilet water: our campus is obviously composed of flexible, racist, nationalistic, homoerotic, homophobic, fraternity-hating individuals with bad penmanship, who are adept at drawing enlarged pictures of genitalia, doing lots of drugs, forcing words to rhyme even if they don’t, and leaving phone numbers of considerate girls who are willing to “give you a good time.” Nothing you weren’t aware of already.

Remember then, next time you are at your most vulnerable and just happen to have a pen or some sharp object around, leave your mark. Become a part of a campus-wide discourse, and prove to anybody else who has to relieve themselves that you too can be ridiculous. Do not miss out on the knowledge that comes from the combination of bowels and vowels.

After all, as “Fat-Man-Bill” told me on the second floor of Powell, “Knowledge is Power!” Preach on, Fat-Man-Bill.