Hello. My name is Jonathan Land. I'm trying to be an author, and I'm in the midst of writing a book that I believe a modified version of your product can help me with. Please read this introductory chapter and then my request below to see if this is doable. You can make or break this project for me, and if it succeeds, you will get a major mention and "thank you" in the book.

-------Begin introduction

I've got to get these notes down before the next wave hits. There's plenty of material in here. I feel like a gold miner during the Rush. I guess that's ironic since I've been feeling a rush on and off for the past half-hour, and this place smells like a cave lined with the stench of hundreds of men. I can't tell which of the two is making me queasier. Shit, time's up.

God, it burns. Someone turns the doorknob. Before I have a chance to utter "occupied" out of my mouth, another orifice emits a much more vulgar response which will make the person on the other side of the door privy to that information, but in not as many words so much a long, loud burst of multi-frequency noise that communicates an occupation of considerable length and gravity.

I'm beginning to sweat again. I take my coat, roll it up in a ball and press it hard against my stomach. Jesus. The rest happens in a feverish blur of fire, lava and pain. Then it's over. Whew. Have I been purged? Can I make it home? It's a 20 minute drive. A lot happens in 20 minutes. I'm going to go for it.

I emerged from the men's room at the Mobil gas station 45 minutes after I entered and returned the key to the attendant.

"I thought you ran off with the key."

"I'm not running off anywhere, not with this run off from dinner. Hey, do you have any Pepto Bismol? I think I ripped myself a new one. At the very least I ripped the one I already had."

The attendant gingerly took the key and poured a bucket full of bleach and tossed it in.

"It's on your right," he said with a look of disgust yet understanding. "Sizzler?"

"Yeah. Never again."

I bought the Pepto and a bottle of Gatorade. As I sluggishly walked back to my car, I navigated through the plastic protective seal and the child-proof cap of the Pepto, and drank at least half of it. I couldn't tell. It coats the bottle as well as it will be coating my stomach as soon as it gets there.

I hate to start off this adventure by sinking into bathroom humor because it's the next-to-worst form of humor above puns. Oops, I guess I covered all my bases with that statement. Alas all journeys have a beginning and this is mine.

I sat in my car moving on to my Gatorade chaser. Replenish, replenish, replenish. The cushy seat in my Saturn is so much more pleasurable than my previous uncomfortable accommodation. I reviewed my notes to read what I took away from this particular experience.

Let's see here: "For a good time call Ellen at XXX-XXXX", "God is dead.", "Bill Jenkins is a fag", some indecipherable graffiti, but I think I recognize it from somewhere around town.

So, these are the concerns and activities of the local youth that's old enough to drive, yet still immature enough to engage in such juvenile anonymous. They won't be anonymous for long though.

Where to start? Well, the phone number is the obvious choice. It's the only solid lead. If it pans out that'll be great. I am looking for a good time, but probably not the kind that the author had intended.

I felt like I stabilized so I drove home, feeling every pothole and crack in the road more intensely than I ever have before. I gently walked up the stairs, laid face down on my bed and picked up the phone. How do I tackle this as to not scare off Ellen? When in doubt go with the truth.

I dialed.

"Hello, is Ellen there?"...

-------End introduction

OK, now this is where things come to a grinding halt. Here's what I'd like to ask of you: Is it possible for you to install a wireless camera at the end of your talking toilet paper holder so I can actually get some good, solid leads as to who the people writing these things are.

This is not some perv thing. I don't want to see guys on the crapper or taking a whiz. I'm not making some gay fetish website. I just want the camera focused on the door so I can get a nice profile shot of the dudes who write this stuff so I can track them down for interviews. I can have a non-fiction best-seller here. I don't want to have to make these things up, because fiction is not selling well at all nowadays.

I'm conceptually constipated here, can you please help me?

Jonathan Land