(Editor’s note: today’s column is dedicated to several of my most loyal fans, Ms. Robin, Ms. Marycharles, Ms. Gaylene and Ms. Barb…you girls are truly awesome. Thank you so, so much. And please ignore the pic above, which has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with you ladies. Obviously.)
One of the features that I like best and enjoy most in the 800 square foot one-bedroom “flat” (people have apartments, writers have flats) I live in here in the Torpid Whales 55+ Senior Living Complex, located conveniently on the Gulf Coast of FL and so named for the number of the resident elderly sunbathers/swimmers seen lolling all over the chaise lounges at any one of our several pools every day, is the short dividing wall in my bathroom. (See diagram below.)
Besides discretely, but only partially, hiding the toilet from overt view when someone enters “the bath”, the wall serves another much more subtle yet essential function in the life of your Cap’n (that would be me).
Having finally and reluctantly given into some of the vagaries of “aging”, all the while clawing and scratching and fighting for every moment of my squandered youth, I acknowledge that, all my resistance notwithstanding, I cannot stand tall and unbowed before the unrelenting betrayal of time. Thusly, I have reached the point in my life where, during the course of the night, EVERY EFFIN’ NIGHT, WITHOUT FAIL, THE BIG THREE SIX FIVE BABY, EVERY STINKIN’, EFFIN’ NIGHT, EVERY DAMN ONE, I have to get up to pee. Frequent nocturnal urination is the scourge of the elderly. (“Frequent Nocturnal Urination” would be a great name for a rock band.)
I have succumbed to the monster age and lay bloodied and defeated at its evil feet. (Poetic, huh?)
I have spoken to other “seniors” about this phenomena, had many open, candid discussions with folks my age, hoping someone, somewhere could enlighten me on how to avoid the dreaded nightly pee break, to no avail. It seems like, for the majority of the people I’ve spoken to, once you hit 60, your “sleep through the night like a baby” days are now in your rear-view mirror, never to be seen again.
No, excuse me, pee. (As an expletive, the word “pee” leaves a great deal to be desired.)
You will note from the drawing that I have painstakingly created, especially and exclusively for the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog (right), that the afore-mentioned short dividing wall is located directly to the left of the toilet, assuming the person is standing and facing said toilet, which if said person were male and urinating would be the preferred position, and quite close.
Close enough to lean on when you’re standing there in the middle of the night, typically smack between 1:00am and 2:00am, half-to-three-quarters of the way asleep, peeing.
Leaning brings a whole new dimension to male urination. (I tried to think what advantage a woman would realize by leaning on a nearby wall while emptying her bladder and couldn’t come up with one, although I am always open to suggestions from my readers.) This isn’t the old “hold your johnson in your left hand while you put your right hand on the wall above your head and lean forward” lean, no, this is something much more supportive, more relaxing. That hand over the head kind of leaning is fine, believe me, and although I’ve never been a big proponent of the position, it is effective.
No, wall-leaning while peeing is resting, it’s a near-total body relaxation, it’s killing two llamas with one hand-grenade, it’s tidings of comfort and joy, all in the mere act of…leaning.
And peeing. Simultaneously.
You just kinda’, you know, let your left shoulder slump against the wall, and once aim is adjusted, to avoid the dreaded “hit the rim instead of the water and splash urine all over your leg” mistake, you let both arms hang limp at your sides and just lean there and enjoy the pee.
I swear this has become one of the more sublime pleasures of my life of late.
And I don’t waste it…no, no. I never lean during the day, when I’m awake and alert and have no need for support, for leaning. No, it’s only in the dead hours of the night, well past the witching hour of midnight and with time moving inexorably towards another dawn in the eastern sky, only then do I avail myself to the secret luxury of leaning on a wall and urinating. (Insert large sigh of satisfaction here.)
As the Angel Bartleby said to the Archangel Loki in Kevin Smith’s hilarious movie Dogma, “You really are a simple creature.”
Yes, I are.
And as long as we’re on the general subject, please allow me an editorial comment here, if you would…ladies, I cannot for the life of me understand why you carp at men for not putting the seat down when they’re done peeing. Okay, yes, common courtesy would certainly dictate the return of the seat/lid to the down position, but sadly not all men are graduates of the Miss Manners School For Delicacy and Decorum. But really? Really? You guys aren’t smart enough to check behind you first before you park your butt on the crapper…I mean, it’s kinda’ like backing your car into your garage without first checking to see if the door is open. D’uh.
Regular readers of the WATRUK blog, and thank you very, very much if you are, are already painfully aware of my difficulties with segues; for my newer followers, suffice to say that I use segues about as well as old people fornicate. (I’m sensing a theme here.) No, my typical approach to the changing of the subject is to just forge ahead, unconcerned with and in no way restrained by the use of proper syntax, as I’m about to do now.
I have received a number of remarks and comments, some very positive, some curious, some supportive, some profane, dirty, disgusting, revolting (sorry), and some questioning my motives, all in response to my announcement in last week’s post that I was launching a new religion, to be known as the Roving Spastic Church, with the members to be called Spastics.
The Roving Spastic Church, home of “Capnism”.
~From Penny Stocks of Lower Podunk MN…
“OMFG, Cap’n, I was laughing so hard when you said your new church was going to be called the “Roving Spastic Church” that I wet myself a little and then had the most intense orgasm I’ve had in 20 years. Are you married? (Asking for a friend.)”
~From Robin S of Trinity FL…
“Oh Cap’n John, you’re so wonderful! And brilliant! Your post was sensational! I laughed so hard when I read it I couldn’t even go to work. I had to call in and tell them I wouldn’t be there because I had over-laughed…I almost got fired for “unprovoked hilarity” but everything’s okay now. Did I tell you you’re really wonderful?”
~From Rusty Nail of Butte ID…
“I really like your idea to launch a new religion…what was it P.T. Barnum once said about suckers? Oh yeah, that there’s one born every minute. Nice job, Cap’n.”
~From Gaylene M (the Queen of Las Vegas) of Las Vegas NV…
“I hereby submit my application for any of the positions of either “dungeon guard”, “heretic” or “Head Barkeep”; am licensed, can provide own uniform, Bible and torture devices. Have vast experience in all aspects of dungeon management, including rack-stretching and flogging, and am adept at extracting confessions. Non-smoker, references available upon request.”
~From Marshall Arts of Plunkbottom OH…
“You are a sick, degenerate, filthy, disgusting, evil, low-class, repulsive, disgusting, gross, sick, perverted, degenerate, twisted, evil, gross and repulsive human being and your mother dresses you funny. How dare you proclaim yourself to be “Head Pope” of your vile, disgusting, evil, sinful, blasphemous, sickening, evil, wretched, disgusting excuse for a “church”. You are putrid, sickening, repulsive, gross, perverted, despicable and occasionally pretentious and I hope you become infested with crotch lice.”
~From Sister Kitty Hawk of Makesme IL…
“I represent the National Unified Network of Sisters (NUNS) and I have been asked by my sister sisters to advise you of our strenuous objection and opposition to your formation of a new religion, the Roving Spastic Church. We are deeply insulted by your obvious allusion to the Roman Catholic Church, and are further offended by the disparaging remarks you made regarding the various methods used by the REAL Church, the Catholics, to extort, er, excuse me, raise funds from our members to support our work. You are a vile, despicable, repulsive, sickening, disgusting, gross, opinionated fucktard and we hope you burn in the fires of hell for all eternity, or that you’re subjected to four more years of listening to Donald Trump, which would be approximately the same thing.”
~From Mary Charles of Net Worth TX…
“You are the funniest writer of humor to ever put fingers to keyboard…. That Dave Barry guy can’t carry your jock, believe me, and you’re light years better than that Andy Leibowitz or Hershowitz or whatever his name is. I can’t wait to join the RSC and become a Spastic!”
~From Canadian Barb of South Saskahootski BC…
“You are my hero. Unfortunately, I agree with Mr. Marshall Arts of Plunkbottom OH (above); your mother does dress you funny.”
So the overall score, based on the above and the many other messages I received, seems to be Beverly Hills 90210 and Cap’n John 3.
But I forge ahead, undeterred. Besides, we all know how much our dear President likes the “religious right” people…maybe I can arrange an audience with him (pardon the pun) in my position as the Head Pope of the Roving Spastic Church, and then convince him to undergo an exorcism; maybe I could drive out the evil spirit that has taken over this man. (Not.)
But I know this…after four years of this jerk, if Donald Trump fell on the floor in front of me and burst into flames, I wouldn’t take out my johnson and pee on him.
At least not without a wall to lean on.
Love and golden showers,