The Horrors of Whistling

Whistling is a sorry affair, an affront to humanity, for it is invariably tuneless and never done well. One hears it only in circumstances when escape is impossible---on buses, airplanes, the factory floor. When I was a teenager working in a summer factory job for eight hours a day, the fellow chained to the machine next to mine would whistle for hours and this, like a scar on the face of a beautiful woman, ruined his otherwise comely personality. When conversation fell away to silence, he would take to whistling. To avoid further torture, I would engage him in conversation for as long as I could. I learned that he wiped his ass crack from a standing position, he once lusted after his own sister, and he used to pee in his father's orange juice. That's what whistling brings people to.