How To Effectively Traumatize Your Child For Life!

I'm sure I've said it before, but I can't pee like a man. This doesn't mean that I have to sit down whenever I urinate, but I do have to go in a stall to go to the bathroom. Once in there, I stand up, drop my pants to my ankles, and pee, Pee, PEE!

Yesterday, while I was in L.A. visiting a friend for New Years, we went to The Grove (a disgustingly trendy L.A. "mall") to see a movie, The Life Aquatic. After the movie, I went to the bathroom for probably the fourth time that day because I have a bladder the size of my vagina. As I was walking in, a man was pulling what I assume was his son into the bathroom with him. He dragged him by the hand to the wall of urinals.

"What do I do," the boy asked, innocently.

"Just pull your pants down and take it out," the perhaps-father replied, somewhat irritated.

"But everybody will see it," the boy said, taking the words right out of my mouth as I stood in my private cubicle of urination happily pissing without fear of "them" seeing it.

At this point, the father says what will probably go down as the most traumatizing event in this young child's life.

"They're supposed to see it."

Supposed to? No. Nobody's supposed to see it. He makes it sound as though that's the whole point of peeing at a urinal is to show your stuff to everybody. As far as I know, this isn't the point. Unless I missed this childhood lesson, I believe that nobody's supposed to see it unless they're a significant other, doctor, or teacher who takes the day off to drive you to the District Spelling Bee because you're "not like other kids--you're special and so smart."

I just know that for years after this incident, that boy is going to be beaten on a consistent basis for blatantly looking at the junk of other men at the urinal. The whole point of peeing at a urinal is a practice in heterosexual self-control. Sure, you wonder why one man is so close his dick is probably scraping the wall of the urinal producing a spectacular water show not unlike holding one's thumb over the end of a garden hose, but you don't look. You also wonder why it's taking the old man standing next to you an hour to take a leak (then you wonder why you've been standing at the urinal for an hour, too). Does he have a weird, crazy-straw-shaped dick? Pin-point-sized urethra? Maybe. But you don't look no matter what. Not unless the guy is peeing on you, are you supposed to look. And even then, you should probably try to maintain eye contact only.

That's why I stick to the stalls. There are no rules. Going to the bathroom in a stall is like being in International Waters. You can gamble, kill endangered species, and smoke peyote without consequence.

If somebody ever tells you that you're supposed to do something, you may want to do a little research first. My dad never misled me like that, and I'm glad. At first I thought it was a little weird, though, that you're supposed to shit in urinals. But, as my dad explained to me, it's like how Iceland is actually green, and Greenland is actually ice. It's simply a case of something being named wrong.

Interesting thought of the day:
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it wear a two-piece in public because it's self-conscious of its C-section scar.