Entry #7: A Bucket
It was late and my friends and I were walking back to the apartment. As with all the other stories in this blog, the urge to pee struck me as hard as a frying pan strikes a mans face when his wife learns that he’s been cheating on her with her sister. I canvased the area and found a nice little spot between two buildings. I excused myself from the group and ran over. There I found a bucket.
I stared down at the small empty plastic container and, without giving it a second thought, I decided that it shouldn’t stay empty for much longer. I cleared my throat, whipped out my junk, and as soon as the first drop touched the bottom of the bucket, I started singing my song.
I felt kinda weird peeing in a bucket, not because of the actual act of peeing in it, rather the thought of the look on the unfortunate person who would find it. Okay, to be honest, the look that I thought up as a student or some passerby finds this bucket filled to the brim was rather hilarious. Also, looking back, I’m not sure why the bucket was completely full, for I doubt that I had enough liquids in my bladder to fill it, but I did. Weird.
The thing is, I feel like buckets like to be filled with something. Its their duty to carry something and when its not, its not fulfilling its purpose. By pissing into it, I was giving the bucket a purpose, a reason to live, a means to survive. A bucket wants to be filled with something as surely as a guitar wants to be played and a car wants to be driven. It was created for that reason and I, for one, was putting it to good use.
I finished off my surge and finished the verse of the song. I stared down at the plastic container that was, now, steaming in the cool night. I felt proud for a second at knowing that I had given something purpose. And with that, I went off back into the night to join my friends.
5:48 am • 24 October 2010
Entry #6: Face Full of Ass
As I was singing my song, its Hey Jude in case you were wondering and peeing under a tree back in San Jose, this is a blog where I talk about my public urinations, I started to think about my morning and how I never seem to need coffee anymore. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t drink it if offered, its just that I’ve been getting my kick from something else.
I got my kick in the morning from a face full of ass.
Now, this may sound somewhat alarming but there is a perfectly sound explanation to this. You see, as a lazy college student, the one thing I can never seem to motivate myself to do is laundry and when I do eventually do it, I keep it in the hamper. This might sound fine but, because I’m an idiot, I throw my dirty laundry in with my clean laundry. At first, it’s pretty easy to distinguish which is which so that I can reach down and grab something clean but as I accumulate more dirty clothes, as you can imagine, the harder it gets.
Now, this isn’t so bad with shirts and pants, no no, what’s shitty about this predicament is the boxers. I can never find a clean pair of boxers to wear. I’ll reach down and pull up what seems to be a clean pair of boxers. You can never be too sure though so, just to be safe, I’ll give it a whiff and get a face full of ass.
Boxers that you’ve worn for a day doesn’t smell very good…they really don’t. It’s disgusting.
This is how I spent my mornings, reaching down into my hamper, finding a pair of boxers, and taking a sniff to see if they’re clean. The idiotic thing is, you would think that I would just reach in and try to grab the boxers closest to the bottom where the “clean” laundry was, but no, I’m an idiot in the morning so I reached down and grab the same three of four pairs of boxers every morning to get a a face full of ass from. Plus, sometimes I couldn’t even find a clean pair and so I would spend my mornings sniffing boxers and getting a face full of ass for no fucking reason.
The thoughts of my deeds made me shiver in fear, making my steady stream look like a soundwave. I finished the last line of the song, shook off whatever was left or still wanting to come out. zipped up and began walking down the street, dreading the morning where I would get another face full of ass.
5:00 pm • 21 September 2010
Entry #5: Well…
Sometimes, I’ll need to pee but not have to pee for very long. Though my long winded posts about my urinations adventures seems like I just piss for five minutes straight, and there are times when I do seem to piss for an extended period of time, occasionally it’ll go a little something like this.
*Zip* *Pull* *Whiz*
Hmm, I wonder what…oh wait, out of juice.
*Shake off* *Reinsert* *Zip*
“Hey guys, wait up!”
1:49 am • 20 September 2010
Entry #4: Frontyards
I was annoyed. I charged out of the house and with a grumble, I walked in front of the lemon tree. I knew they used the lemons to make lemonade and, well, eventually it won’t be the only yellow liquid they would be drinking. Then again, I didn’t want to pee out there to begin with, I was told to get out and pee so I did exactly what they wanted me to do. With a frustrated flurry, I whipped it out and began watering the tree.
As I started singing my song, I couldn’t help but think about the quote from “Forgetting Sarah Marshell”, the one about when life gives you lemons, fuck the lemons and bail.” That’s what I should have done. Instead of giving the tree a “refreshing” little drink of the purified liquids from my body, I should have left and taken my bladder somewhere I would have wanted to pee in. No one tells me and my dick what to do. Unless we’re fucking but that’s an entirely different story for an entirely differnt time.
I stuffed it back in, zipped up, finished the line of the song, and stomped back into the house.
2:40 am • 13 September 2010
Entry #3: Her
I was pretty drunk and went outside to sober up a bit. However, my drunken mind told me that I would have more fun out in the night and so I did what my mind told me to. It was there when the urge to piss came over me and I stopped in front of a house with giant Greek Letters on it. With a laugh, I began to pee and I started singing my song.
She then drifted into my head, throwing out the previous voice that had told me to come outside and pee. I told her to get out, I just wanted to piss but she wouldn’t leave. She told me that she thought I was great and amazing, with a drunken murmur, I said, “Liar.” She began talking about how happy she was with the guy she was with at the party and that I was stupid to get this drunk because of the sight of the two of them together. Her words punched me in the gut and for a second, my slow steady stream gushed out in a hot mess.
She told me that I had missed my chance, that I secretly enjoyed being miserable and by myself. I kept singing my song. She called me a coward and that I could never make her smile and laugh the way he could. I could never make her happy. She told me everything I feared and I heard myself singing louder and louder.
“Better, Better, BETTER, BETTER, BETTER, BETTER, WOW!” I sang to myself, wishing that they lyrics of the song didn’t align so perfectly with the events of the night. I wiped biter tears from my face, zipped my pants, and, unable to face her after what had just happened, began a slow walk back home.
3:33 am • 9 September 2010
Entry #2: John Travolta
I was pissing into a bush and trying to finish as quickly as possible. About halfway through, I remembered that I was going to start singing now so I quickly mumbled, “Hey Jude.” Regardless, as I was going, I randomly started thinking about John Travolta. I can’t say why, he just came out of no where and just stayed. The thing is, was the John Travolta from Hairspray.
The more I started thinking about it the more I thought about how horrifying the guy was. Maybe, I’m kinda late to the party but that guy is fucking horrifying. It wasn’t that he was portraying a fat woman, I had no problem with that. It was just how weird, fake, and plasicly he looked. He looked super plastic and I just find it really, scary. Like, really really really really, REALLY REALLY scary.
Like REALLY SCARY.
LIKE REALLY REALLY SCARY.
With a small sigh, and a slight shiver, I shake off the last few drops, thought about how dirty my hands are, finished the last verse, and continued walking back home.
3:05 am • 6 September 2010
Entry #1: Hey Jude
I was walking around with my friends. It had gotten pretty late and, either, none of the places were open or didn’t allow non-customers to use their restrooms. Eventually, we came across a funeral home. Thinking it funny, my friend and I went into the parking lot, stood on opposite corners, and, for lack of a better term, pissed our brains out.
As I stood there, I heard my friend singing “Hey Jude” and told me to start singing it as well. Confused, I went along with him. He told me, afterwards, that it was his public urination song and that he sang it whenever he was pissing in public. Thinking that the idea was hilarious, I decided to sing that song whenever I would relieve myself as well.
I’ve been singing it ever since.
The Parking lot was at a slight slant and the piss came back to wash over my feet. A great night to wear flip-flops, no? I guess, that’s what I get for disrespecting the dead.
9:58 pm • 5 September 2010 • 1 note