Take it sitting down

I returned from the bathroom to my keyboard, having quickly supplanted one urge with another. In those few minutes, I had decided that I could no longer waste readers’ times with another forgettable article aimed at eliciting a few inexpensive laughs, while a topic of major importance was gurgling beneath my summit ready to explode. And it is a subject I have meant to address many times before, but had always relegated it to my burgeoning “Later” file.

No more! This is something that must be discussed now! And even though it is a matter that related directly to males, it should be of some secondary importance to females as well. I’m talking about the “Twin Leaks,” the “Double Elimination Toilet Tournament,” Urinary Bifurcation, or more descriptively, the inability of middle-aged men, during urination, to emit a solitary stream. Actually, I may be a bit too presumptuous. Since I haven’t mustered the energy or nerve to survey others in my decrepit demographic group, it’s possible that I may be the sole victim of this affliction, but I’m willing to bet otherwise. It has been happening to me for the past couple of years, and each instance seems to be exponentially more aggravating than the prior one. Usually, it’s a horizontal release, so generally what happens is that I produce a stream that goes straight and one that ventures 90 degrees to the left or right, but occasionally, I manage, involuntarily of course, two 90-degree mini-gushers, either of which necessitates a clean-up of the sides of the bowl and sometimes the surrounding area. I’ve tried various types of manual manipulations and adjustments that I feel sure you will not want me to describe, all to no avail. I’ve had a 90-degrees-plus incident, which resulted in the front of my pants getting soaked at work one day, which I attempted to disguise by slashing basin water on my pants area above the danger zone, so I would simply explain it away as an accident subsequent to overly powerful spigot pressure. Fortunately, I’ve had no vertical mishaps, which would have necessitated my investing in disposable coveralls and even goggles.

I have considered the remedial option of some sort of funnel, but it would have to be custom made, and I can’t envision my being measured for it, or for that matter, going through the humiliation of the supplier smugly recommending a thimble with a hole in the end.

Ironically, this disorder has not caused me any trouble in public urinals, so far, since the single apparatuses have sufficient separation between them and the trough type does no more than offer a tantalizing lateral distance challenge, but with the added danger of physical retribution, should I prove to be a poor marksman: “Did you just pee on me, boy? I’m gonna hurt you.” And quite possibly a one-way ticket to Eunuch City.

Using the lemons-to-lemonade analogy, I concluded that perhaps this could be turned into a positive. Maybe competitions in bars, where guys would relieve themselves while simultaneously trying to fill cups on either/both sides. There could be gradually increasing distances, and even a contest to knock a cigarette out of someone’s mouth, with additional points awarded if the cigarette is put out. What kind of moron would volunteer to hold the cigarette? A Howard Stern fan, of course. Those people will do anything. Naturally, this is not going to happen everywhere. This ain’t no Red State game! In fact, it might only happen in dive bars in NYC, and over time, spreading to Europe, initially gaining a foothold in Amsterdam.

Then again, I theorized I could avoid all this controversy simply by sitting down on the toilet from now on instead of standing. If it were in a public restroom, there would be no way any other guys who happened to be in there would know what I was doing, and I could, at least, perform a natural function without being concerned about the ramifications, the mental image of Arnold Schwarzenegger taunting me with (“Terminator” to “Urinator”) “Girlie Man! Girlie Man!” not withstanding. This corrective action, if adopted by other progressive minded men, would also spin off to women the added bonus of not having to worry about having to put the seat down after us.

I am happy to report to you, however, that I have been utilizing the “Sitting Down” method rather successfully except for a single run-in with the government’s newly formed “Gender Appropriate Police” or GAP (knocking on the door of my stall in the restroom of a local restaurant): “Our poopometer detects no ‘movement.’ Please step out of the stall with your arms up and your pants down.” I was charged with “Gender Inappropriate Activity” and forced to memorize each item of a 600-piece Sears Roebuck tool set before I could be freed. Nevertheless, this was but a small setback, and I still find the “Sitting Down” method the most successful. I simply load up with Jalapeno peppers a few hours in advance, if I know I am going to using a public restroom, thereby not only warding off the GAP harassment, but guaranteeing the bathroom all to myself, if you get my drift.

For further information and answers to questions regarding Urinary Bifurcation, please email me at gowiththeflow.net.