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.
