On Pissing Outside

The good ol' days, when men were men.

In this age of constant, bustling communications, commutes, insipid work-day routines and after-work duties we have lost a bit of our humanity, nay, we run the danger of completely losing our identities. When do men find themselves outdoors, away from the world, and in need of a piss? Very rarely, I venture to say. Why? I will not delve into the why. The Why is too vague in its immensity.  That debate is for another time.

It means something when a man has to piss and his first instinct is to let it out. Then the crushing Thought arrives: “I can’t just whip it out and piss here. Someone might see me! It may cause them to frown upon me and think bad things!”

Well, who really gives a shit? Do you give a shit that that old, wrinkly lady, the one who hasn’t been fucked in years and years, rears her head back in disapproval and gives a little shriek? If you do then…you may be forgiven. She could wave down a nearby mall cop and have you busted before you even shake the last few drops free. Indeed it’s hard—and quite possibly unhealthy– to stop a steady stream once begun; and one also runs the risk of pissing oneself while leading a desperate foot chase, giving the appearance of a soiled pervert with authorities in hot pursuit. Fair game for some Upright Citizen to blindside a chap as a civic duty. But my god man, piss somewhere. Fulfill the primordial tinkle in your soul and get a bit back in touch with the male Self. I promise: it will lead somewhere. You will gain back a degree of independence.  You will loosen the shackles that bind you to the drudgery of only letting loose behind the door of that little room in your dwelling devoted to these activities, hovering over and aiming for the oval ring of porcelain .  I say, piss outside the lines.

This brings to mind the etiquette involved in such pursuits as freely pissing where one wants, when one wants. Like smoking pot in Amsterdam where one only smokes in the coffee shops, the parks out of view or indoors privately—never as an exhibition around families and the public at large (It must be noted that Amsterdam also has those lovely green Pissoirs stationed on street corners where one can dart in, his mid-calf down visible to all, and piss right on the street).

One has to strike a balance between social responsibility on one hand and the pursuit of individual rights on the other. One must have a bit of class and discretion. Walk into your front yard at night, perhaps as you let the dog out, and find a corner shaded from streetlights and neighbor’s windows. Make sure there’s no headlights oncoming and enjoy a good evening piss. Mark your territory. Your dog will be overjoyed seeing this and will probably come and take a piss somewhere in the vicinity of yours. How close to or on top of yours can dictate if he or she holds you as Alpha or not. If your dog pisses right on your spot, you obviously have some problems and should at the very least start pissing outside with more abandon and frequency. One’s hound must always be subservient. If all else fails, I suggest taking the beast down on its back with lightning fast ferocity and applying a good bite to the throat area. You may have to repeat once or more, depending on the level of insolence. But that is a Dog Behavior column, and will come later.

The important thing is that the American Man regains the feeling in his ball-sack. That he has a pair. When he has no doubt they’re dangling there, all these terrible problems that seemingly beset us on all sides can be stared at straight on with confidence. And pissed on.