I pee when I laugh, every time. The funnier the joke that someone is telling me, the more forceful the gush. Yeah, the wittier the comment, the mightier the amber river (or clear river, depending on how hydrated I am). It’s like there's a terrorist attack going on inside my trousers and the bomb inadvertently set off the sprinkler system. Since I giggle so often, and since I evidently have the mother of all urinary bladders, I see pants as nothing more than an ineffective spray-protector. Colleagues no longer chat with me at my cubicle, for my desk, computer, file cabinet and bookshelf reek of urine. In fact, my office chair, formerly blue, is now aqua green, which incidentally matches nicely the turquoise stone paperweight on my desk. The entire copier room is likewise saturated with the stuff, as I once laughed uncontrollably while making handouts for my class because a co-worker walked up to me at the time and started creating weird sounds with her armpits. Look, I realize that what I’m telling you is disgusting, but there are worse things. It’s not like I’m a serial killer. What would you rather have: a serial killer in your office killing people or some splotches of urine here and there? That said, I must concede that I do have a more serious problem. You see, dear reader, I defecate when I cry, almost always. Given my melancholy disposition and bouts with depression, it’s like I’m a permanent resident of Shitsville.