I was remiss and forgot to enlighten you all on these lovely practices (thanks, Anne!) which I can only hope are the stuff of urban myth. However, if you have ever engaged in either of these "variations", please do drop us a line, as I would like to include you in the Crotch Monkey Hall of Shame (see below). Inquiring pervs want to know.

Now in further crotch-monkeydom comes a discussion I was having with the lovely Avatar concerning all sorts of nasty shit and the people who do 'em.

THE CROTCH MONKEY HALL OF SHAME

Flagrant Violator #1 was a director's assistant who decided it was a good idea to clip his fingernails in our facility.

Now, I have seen this happen on the bus, but I expect it of people who are on the bus. I did not expect to see this crap happening in my place of work, which isn't exactly a lowest-common denominator type of place (except for me.)

I mean, who does these things?!

I was too offended for words, other than you've GOT to be f*#%ing kidding me, but aside from profanity, words failed me.

If people don't even know what they're doing wrong, I can't help them.

Flagrant Violator #2 came along as I watched a friend of mine filming a show which happened to have a live, studio audience, some of whom were paid. Not well, mind you, so you got a lot of hoi polloi from off the street. Which was the case with the man in front of me. I guess a cameraman must have noticed him and hit him with a spotlight to investigate further, then reported the offender to my friend via headset, because next thing I knew, he came over the mic and asked (with audible disgust), "Sir, have you taken off your sock and are picking at your foot?!"

He had. In front of a live, studio audience, no less. Some people have no couth.

Which brings to mind Flagrant Violator #3: my ex-thing...for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Bluto, the Crotch Monster.

Bluto had this problem with touching his equipment repeatedly. He would perform this covert crotch-fondling at all hours, in broad daylight, in front of mixed company and apparently thought that no one saw him do it. I don't know if he even knew he was doing it. Every time he would move his hand to rearrange his three-piece set, my friend wanted to scream STOP DOING THAT!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! IS YOUR THING BOTHERING YOU OR SOMETHING?! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! OH JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH, GEORGE, PAUL, RINGO, AND JOHN - MAKE IT STOP...!!! But how do you tell a crotch monkey that he is, indeed, a crotch monkey, if he doesn't already know...?

I mean, if I were going to do any such thing, I would at least warn people Excuse me! I am now going to diddle my own particulars! Hope you don't mind...ha, ha! But no warning. Nothing.

I was so infatuated with Bluto, the Crotch Monster (probably because it was quite impressive, which is maybe why it was bothering him so much)...that I didn't see it. At first. But when he started cheating on me with Fifi, the Dancing Freaking Ragdoll in the Rugrats show (whoops, there goes her cover) it became all too clear. I started noticing all his annoying little crotch monkey-shines.

And I, too, wanted to scream at him, STOP DOING THAT!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! IS YOUR THING BOTHERING YOU OR SOMETHING?! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! OH JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH, GEORGE, PAUL, RINGO, AND JOHN - MAKE IT STOP...!!!

But alas, I could not.

Bluto, the Crotch Monster, was even in a show which required him to wear white pants. He touched himself so much that a spot near the crotch turned a dirty, dirty brown. Bluto seemed oblivious: "how did that get there...?" Aggggh! How is it even possible that he didn't know what he was doing with his own hand...?!?

I discussed this with a male friend and he volunteered to anonymously call the guy and say STOP DOING THAT!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! IS YOUR THING BOTHERING YOU OR SOMETHING?! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! EVERYBODY'S TALKING ABOUT IT...! EVEN JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH, GEORGE, PAUL, RINGO, AND JOHN...! Etc.

I thanked the friend, but declined his generous offer.

Why should I go and make things any easier for Fifi, the Dancing Freaking Ragdoll...? She was already unfairly benefiting from the fact that I'd finally gotten him to stop wearing a leather fanny pack. Which he sported on backwards, so that the "fanny" part was resting firmly upon his persnickety package (maybe he thought it was hiding the fact that his hand was there like 32 times a day...?) Insanity.

I hope he embarrasses Fifi by tinkering with his man-tool often, and in front of her family. And then clips his nails over Sunday dinner with the 'rents.

Crotch-monkey fuckers deserve what's coming to them.