I don't need to know that five people in the last four years have been paralyzed while snowboarding down the same hill on which I am going to learn how to snowboard. Why did you tell me this? Will this information help me learn how to navigate a slippery slab down a slippery slope in any conceivable way? I didn't think so. If I die while learning to snowboard I'm going to blame you. I may not be around to blame you, but I've instructed everyone else to blame you.

I don't need to know what species of water-dwelling monster is swimming underneath my feet while I'm trying to surf. An endangered member of the shark family may frequent these waters, and hoorah for him, for lasting this long, but I don't need to know about it. Don't tell me about the little fishies who swim in schools this close to shore, or about the time you almost stepped on a stingray but were lucky enough that he was more scared of you. I'm not a very lucky person, you see. And I personally don't find little fishies even remotely cute or cuddly. Please just let me continue surfing in ignorance.

I don't need to know that the dude performing X-rays on and around my abdominal region has really, like, you know, got to get out of here fast, man, because he's got to meet some friends at a bar in a half-hour. I know too much already as I concentrate on two rusty hoop earrings dangling precariously from his hairy left earlobe while he positions a radiation machine ten inches from my reproductive organs. I'm certain he has his own needs, too. He's entitled to his own needs. I just don't need to know about his needs, not here and especially not now, not as my skinny bare ass plays peek-a-boo with the backside of the hospital gown.

I don't need to know that everyone at my office is aware that the reason I've been calling in sick to work is because I'm constipated � chronically, terrifyingly constipated. Moreover, I do not need to know that the Asian database administrator believed you when you lied to him and told him that the constipation excuse is just a cover for the fact that I have a sex toy stuck up my ass.