Gordon Biersch 🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽

I have arrived.

There's something comforting in full length stall doors.  It's the most protection you can hope to achieve in Asia.  It's the antithesis to the squat.  It's bunker like Archie, but without the racism.  Drop trow., hum, sing, get your shadow puppets on, whatever.  It's a 1st class cabin on Air Dubai for a $5 beer.  The skies the limit.  Go man go!

Just look at the length of that door!  If China attacks I'm heading to GB and buying some tacos. 
🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽 

Sababa 🚽 🚽

Sababa is one of those amazing places that has great food, tons of veg. options, cheap prices, hot waitstaff, TP, soap, AND Paper T's.  So why the paltry 🚽 🚽  rating?

I guess it's because it's a little dingy and a little exclusive.  The entire bathroom area is limited to one patron at a time, which would be fine normally, except it's a HUGE area that monopolizes most of the real estate of the restaurant.  Which is kind of in line with the 5-star pampering a Sheik deserves.  Except no one wants to be the center of attention when taking care of business.  🚽 🚽

Good Goods Cafe & Grocery 🚽

Good Goods Cafe is elegantly poised on the corner of NTU campus.  The interior ambience is post industrial neo minimal with traces of christian book store sneaking out at you.

The status of the bathroom is indeed biblical.  Phew!  It's another 1 toilet rating for even having a toilet.  But it's cesspools like this that make me wish I had instantiated a bedpan rating system instead of a throne-based metric.  🚽 

Descend into the dookie dungeon.  Affronted with a naphthalene apocalypse I found myself reminiscing of better days gone by, like when I was so wasted I couldn't remember puking in bathrooms like this.  There should be some bacteria or super-villain that feeds off the stench of piss and moth balls.  Oh yeah, it's useless idiots like me, with nothing better to do than update my blog.  Maybe that's the genius side of Good Goods.  "We threw in the Christian stuff so you'd have to forgive us."  Om bitchez.

No TP.  No paper T's.  No soap.  It's hard to even rate Good Goods Cafe AND Grocery with one sad, skid-marked bowl, but I am nothing if not a man of my word.  Ok fuckers.  Here ya go.  You at least had a toilet.  Way to go. 🚽 

gonna 🚽 🚽 🚽

The toilets are shared in the building lobby between gonna and PAUL (depuis 1889) which were an easy 5-flush brief reprieve from the usual squatty squalor of slapdash neglect and crude design.  However, gonna with all of its cheaper fare clientele have depreciated the bowl down to 3 flushes.  🚽 🚽 🚽 

 The sheer number of users skyrocketing from 10 to 100 per day has imbued the restroom with a ubiquitous stench of piss.   I don't know if the wealthier patrons of PAUL are better human beings, but, at least they have better aim.

Perhaps the only remaining vestige of its former glory lies in the civil proffering of soap AND paper towels.   A flush for each, and one for the softer hued lighting.  🚽 🚽 🚽 

Coffee Alley

Get past the wasted hips of stirring hipsters poised like paparazzi over Oreo milkshakes and ornate tea concoctions, Cofee Alley is the kind of place that makes you regret not having diarrhea, opium grade constipation, or at least a weekend edition of the Financial Times.

Like a Chinese push-up bra, Coffee Alley does a lot with ever so little.  The space is sparse, but not cramped.  The wooden tones say you're on Earth, but the toilets are from Outer Space!  Motion-sensor auto seat cleaner, two-ply paper, optional urinal with self-closing cover make it a sanctuary of privacy in a boxcar of hobos.

Situated on the hip nip of the trendy areola of Da'An district, where a sortie of cafes and alleys proffer foo-foo desserts and libations, Coffee Alley is the perfect intersection of delicate problem and defecate solution.

Second Floor Cafe

Second Floor Cafe is the bastard child of an unholy trinity between T.G.I.F's, a Christian bookstore, and an Emma Watson fan club.  The smarmy charm holds you fixed in its lattice like snowflakes of smug vaginal angel exfoliate.  Whitney Houston's vocal chords haunt the rafters.  Swimming in the aerosol aether of tinseled trash and glittered cheer.   Suspended like myths.  Merriness is ordered, geometrically presented, and then dissected with phone cams and small forks.  The patronage feels strictly amusement park, master-slave.  A bucolic safari of endangered clichés, cannibalizing itself like big game hunting irony.  Fuck you Jesus, we're here for Santa.

TABF

Tapei Academy of Business & Finance is the perfect place to learn about (and take care of) business.  The Naissance coffee shop is aptly named (the birth of an idea or movement). Expect the usual permafrost landscape of people studying, but the wooden tones and bookstore periphery make for nice foreplay.

The bathrooms are right off the set of Gattaca. Large panels of frosted glass, gray clay, and beachwood offer a controlled glimpse of a Utopian future.  Hands-free urinals wait obediently like Doberman Pincers.  Soap issues forth like a miracle from god, yet with more reliability and less insecurity.  Then all of your sins rinse into the sink from automatic water jets.  Completely refreshed and rejuvenated, you emerge from the Fortress of Solitude more super than man.

café à la mode

Crappy coffee, jizm salat, and cliché hash browns aside, café a la mode delivers on the commode!  Good lighting and a warm wooden interior buffet against the poor pop radio musings like an ulcer on the gustatory aesthetics of the food to mouth paradigm here in Taiwan.  Enough fluff, let's move on to your rectum.

This little stencil says it all really.  Missing the point.  Being useless.  It's all just a shadow of the of the dimensionless reality that springs up in the nether regions of time-space and your continuing um refrain.  Upon paying an overpriced bill, I could only respond to the owner's question, "How was everything, sir?" with a glance askance at an almost untouched omelet, virgin bowl of salad, and jilted coffee cup.  "Um..."

Rabbit Rabbit

Even with pink shoes, a furry zebra skin bum bag, and Randy Macho Man Savage shades, Rabbit Rabbit cafe refused to sync with my kitsch.  The deluge of pink extended to everything but the kitchen sink, at first glance saccharine and pathetic.  But lo', what treats awaited!

Adorning the polka-dotted pink walls are caricatures of famous icons as if they were rabbits.  Madonna, Kiss, the Beatles.  And of course Hitler!  Swastikitsch! 

The exposed glaring bulbs of their chandelier win the ugliest Stab At Decency award, runner-up only to post 9/11 America. This dysfunctional lighting atrocity is like taking a country of voters, and placing them on couches.  Then stripping them of all civil rights.  Voilà!  The decline of Western democracy explained through lamps.

Hitler kitsch.  So cute!

Enough fluff.  Onward to the raison d'etre.  Shit and piss.  Keeping with the failure of form and function theme, Rabbit Rabbit offers unisex toilets.  Something that is at once awkward and inappropriate given the hutch like crawlspace of their restrooms.  Though pleased to finally put my knowledge of ballet steps to use, the person opposite me couldn't quite execute the requisite demi-plié to avoid a disheartening full body swipe as we both clogged the entrance / exit like a toilet mid-plunge.  

The bathroom stalls were 1950s diner style, with a touch of trailer park trash.   The entire space was reminiscent of Anne Frank, but eerily cute.  Like a child built a restaurant out of used dollhouses.  I was hoping to look up and see a star sky in this hutch, but alas, the roof just rained loud electro hop, destroying all hope.

 

I actually have a rabbit at home and she is neither pink nor a Nazi.  She is adorably fluffy and just goddamn lovely.  Rabbit Rabbit needs to decide if they want to sell food, fascism, or fluff.