How’s this for honest? I can’t hold my pee-pee

There’s been a lot of debate recently among my blogging pals (see left) about the honesty of our blogs. Some say we hold too much back when we write in this public forum. Well, try this on like a tight pair of high school jeans…I almost urinated in my pants this afternoon.

If early childhood indications were any true warning, my brother would have been the child with the urinary problems. One of my mon’s favorite pictures depicts my brother in full “I gotta pee-pee” mode, clutching his pepe (pronounced like La Pew), and looking into the lens with a look of dispair. Brother Beaker also maintains a certain amount of fame for a certain sleepwalking trip that ended badly for the sanitary nature of our family bath tub.

However, as it stands, the younger sibling with the stronger intellect also has a stronger bladder.

My job forced me to go to Columbia this morning (remind me to rant about my disdain for capital cities). I knew better than the drink a coke on the way back. Caffeine has ill effects on my boy bladder. By the time we hit the Laurens exit, I could feel my loins tightening up. It was already starting to feel like I had a rabbit behind my hoo-haw.

I ignored it. I read three more stories out of my newspaper. I shifted in my seat and the rabbit started playing tennis with my urethra.

I looked out the window. A pretty girl was driving beside us. I tried to think dirty thoughts…you know, give the rabbit a run for his money. No go. The rabbit jeered, flipped the pretty girl the bird, and started bowling. I won’t talk about what he was using as bowling pins…but I’m pretty sure he hit three strikes in a row. Where I come from, we call that a turkey.

By the time we hit Simpsonville (a mere 20 miles from Home Base Bathroom) the rabbit was unconcious. I think the bowling ball had fallen on his head. Somehow, an otter had made its way into my bladder. He was kicking the rabbit around like a Cabbage Patch Doll.

I took off my seatbelt, collected my stuff, closed the latches on my briefcase/bag/man-purse and, sat on one of my feet. Home Base Bathroom drew closer.

We exited the interstate and hit three red lights in a row. The otter died of sheer glee, the rabbit woke up and started kicking the otter around. Somehow a moose made its way in there and started a moose version of Riverdance.

By the time we hit the third red light, I had to ask my photographer to pull into a pharmacy parking lot. We were two miles from Home Base and I knew I couldn’t make it. I limped into the pharmacy and barely made it to the bathroom before the moose invited the rest of his herd in. It was about as close as it gets.

It would be okay if this were an isolated incident, but anyone who has taken a car ride of any length with me knows that I have serious problems. I pee in empty soda bottles. If I have no bottle, I pound on the dash board, scream at my passengers, and hold my pepe la pew in my famous rendition of the infamous pee-pee dance until I find a bathroom.

Every once in a while I take a look at that medicine for OBD…over-active bladder disorder…and think maybe it could kill the animals in my loins. Then I remember that nine times out of ten, my bladder disfunctions are my fault. If I could just refrain from drinking any fluids before going on trips everything would be fine.

But I’m a thirsty guy and those rabbits can be pretty good Frolf players.

So, there’s your honesty for ya, sucko.

Now…I gotta go.

Really.

Brad Willis

Brad Willis is a writer based in Greenville, South Carolina. Willis spent a decade as an award-winning broadcast journalist. He has worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and professional blogger since 2005. He has also served as a commentator and guest on a wide variety of television, radio, and internet shows.

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