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So I am at work on a Friday and I have to use the bathroom. Usually, I do not use the bathroom at work unless it’s an absolute must. I’m the type of guy that likes to be at home, on my own toilet, and do my business in familiar territory. My stomach doesn’t care about all that though.
I head into the bathroom and spray Lysol all over the seat. This is my public bathroom ritual. After the seat is lathered in antibacterial goodness that kills 99.9% of all germs, I wipe the seat down. I then peel off 3 squared sheets of toilet paper and lay it across all 4 sides of the toilet seat. I can now sit down.
I take my shirt off because I do not want my shirt to collect the odor that rises from the seat below while I am using the bathroom. I know, this all sounds so dumb, but again, this is my ritual (my after the bathroom ritual is equally as bad — think: soap, wet wipes, using the sink as a bidet, and manpons until I can go home and shower). I am now shirtless, sitting on a toilet paper covered toilet seat that has been doused in Lysol, with my penis…ah yes, my penis. I didn’t mention my penis. Well, other than urinating prior to sitting, I will hold it in my lap and lay it across the toilet paper at the front of the seat. There is no way I am going to let my dick hang into the toilet. Would I put my face down inside the toilet seat while someone sits on the back of my head? Would I put my hand in the toilet seat slightly letting it touch the sides or on a good day, even dipping my finger tips into the filthy water itself? Absolutely not. So why on earth would I let my most prized possession dangle below me, inside a disgusting toilet bowl strangers defecate in? I wouldn’t.
So as I sit on the seat and text Venice about the latest gossip going on in the office, I feel a second urge of urine stream. Forgetting where I was, I released the stream and heard water sprinkling onto the floor. I quickly jumped up and grabbed my penis and aimed it down into the toilet. I looked at the back of my pants that were pulled down around my shins, and noticed the entire back of them had been peed on. Soaked. The floor as well, but who cares about the damn bathroom floor.
I peed on the back pockets…of my fucking pants. What? Thankfully I bring a change of clothing just in case I have to see a client on casual Friday. So I make a superman like change into my slacks and shirt with a tie, and reappear from the bathroom a new man. A few co-workers notice and I look at my watch like I have a meeting to go to. I leave the office, circle the block, and come back in a few minutes and make up some story about having to meet up with someone. No one knew I just pissed in my own back pockets, but I knew. And now…you know. Peed Myself Peed Myself Peed Myself Peed Myself Peed Myself
*edit. I totally forgot I wrote this blog on Friday and scheduled for it to go live on our weekly scheduled Monday morning blog. So I reread the story and cracked a smile. A smile on Monday? That makes pissing in my own back pocket on Friday totally worth it. 🙂 Have a good week you guys! peed myself peed myself peed myself peed myself peed myself peed myself