Sneezing and peeing at the same time.

I didn't think you could sneeze and pee at the same time.  I have no idea why I thought that.  I guess I never tried or the opportunity never presented itself, until this morning.  As it turns out, you can sneeze and pee at the same time and I don't recommend it.  It's more than the body can handle first thing in the morning.  Here's what happened.

The morning alarm goes off.  As per usual, I hit the snooze button.  As soon as I hit the snooze button, I realize I have to pee.  I'm not ready for that yet as I am still lying in bed trying for another solid 5 minutes of sleep.  (Like that will make a difference.)  Well, guess what?  You can't get 5 solid minutes of sleep when you have to pee, so I get my grumpy ass up and walk into the bathroom.

I step up and assume the position.  Now standing in front of the throne, my mind can't make the plumbing work.  It's preoccupied with trying to figure out why the toilet paper thingy is located as close to the toilet as it is.  I stand there and tell my mind and penis, "Everything is going to be okay.  We are awake.  We are out of bed now and we can safely take a whiz."  Still nothing.

I scratch my head with my other hand, cuss about the dumb position I find myself in and then all of a sudden it happens!  Happy days are here again!  In the matter of a few seconds, we (my penis, my mind and me) are producing a good steady stream.  My bladder relaxes and now all systems are go. 

Since things appear to be going in the right direction, I begin to contemplate the days events.  As I am putting the day into its proper perspective, I feel as if I may sneeze.  This is the precise moment that I figured it would be impossible to pee and sneeze at the same time.  I figured a good sneeze would momentarily shut down the plumbing and then it would get back to operation right after the sneeze. 
Well, that isn't what happens.

As the sneeze builds up pressure, the bladder does try to adjust its pressure in an attempt to work as a counter balance.  The most primal part of the brain says "Yeah, keep going.  This is your most brilliant idea yet."  The newest part of your brain says, "You might die...  You don't know... Nobody has ever tried this shit before and if things go awry, don't worry.  I'll take care of you."  It's calming and nerve wracking at the same time.

You're body convulses and you bend slightly at the waist.  Then it happens.  You hear what sounds like the muzzle blast of a 12 gauge and you immediately pass out from the pain.  As you start to come too, you wonder why your chin hurts and you wonder what it is that is dripping on your foot.  Your hearing comes back next, which is most unfortunate because now you hear yourself moaning while lying on the cold bathroom floor.  Your vision begins to come back and confirms that you are indeed lying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, hand still on what's left of your penis.  You sense of feel starts to come back but you can't tell if its your penis you have a hold of or a stump, but you hope for the best.

You then realize that the stuff that is dripping on your feet is urine soaked toilet paper.  You want to call for help, but you don't want anyone to find you in this most compromised position, so you have a good cry for a few minutes.

You remove your hand from your genital area and muster the strength to take a look at it, hoping to high hell there is no blood.  There isn't and for a moment, you're relieved.  Then you fully realize that you are still in excruciating pain.  It feels as if someone jammed a red hot, straightened out metal coat hanger up your pee hole.  You don't want to believe that.  Nobody wants to believe that but then you start to think that you have have prolapsed your urethra.  I don't know if that is even possible, but at this point it sure as shit feels that way.  Now a sense of embarrassment sets in.  You think, "I am going to have to go to the emergency room with my wang in one and and my prolapsed urethra in the other and have to explain this horrible shit to the entire emergency room staff while they laugh at me. 

Now you roll over on your back.  It seems as if the smoke has cleared and that the dust is settling and you start to relive the incident in an attempt to figure out why your chin hurts.  You finally take a look at your penis and realize that its okay.  Well, its not okay... its still a stupid looking penis, but everything appears to be intact and where you remember it being.  You notice that your urethra is not on the floor like an uncoiled ball of yarn and you give big thanks to that.  (I'm not a religious man, but I gave thanks to the powers above for not making me have to carry the insides of my urinary tract in a grocery bag, into the emergency room.

You think about your chin again.  It really hurts.  You allow yourself a few more minutes sitting naked on the bathroom floor trying to put the whole thing together.  You know, for future reference.  You gain your footing and again assume the position and relive the entire event, step for step, dumb emotion by dumb emotion.  You determine that a profound amount of torque was produced from the pressure build up when the plumbing trying to shut down, the sneeze released the torque in a flash which caused your knees to buckle, which in turn caused your chin to hit the toilet rim. 

In the explosion, you've managed to piss on the toilet tank, the wall behind it, the wall next to it which held the toilet paper roll that ended up dripping on your foot.  You also realized that you somehow managed to piss on the ceiling and the mirror behind you.

You stagger out of the bathroom.  You make your way to the kitchen and start some coffee.  your always faithful pooch comes up along side you, looks you dead in the eye and does his best to offer you an apology for the rough start to your day.  You reach down to pet him and find out that he is mysteriously wet too, and that grosses you out, so you puke in the sink because you think of the word "moist".  You send the dog outside because you can't even look at him now, and make your way back to the scene of the crime for another good cry.

You begin to clean the crime scene.  You're glad that nobody in the world will ever know about this, unless you write about it in your blog.  Then you think about your loved ones on the other side.  What would they have been doing.  Both of your grandpas are laughing so hard, they are crying.  Both of your grandmas are crying.  You dad calls you a fucking idiot.  Your mom....  She is trying to figure out exactly what in the hell happened that allowed you to piss on the mirror that was directly behind you. 

You crawl into the shower, one hand rubbing your chin, the other holding your genitals and then it hits you.  You never thought of peeing and sneezing at the same time because that shit is not ever supposed to happen! 

Like every other dumb ass thing you've ever done to yourself, you remain thankful that you survived.  You finish your shower, get dressed and head to work grateful that the first stop is not the emergency room.

On the ride in, you do all you can to convince yourself that it could have been worse.  You could have had to poop first thing.  (Note to self:  It is not a good idea to see what will happen if you sneeze and poop at the same time.  EVER!)

My Very First Product Review:

Hi everybody.  I've got to tell ya!  I'm pretty excited, folks.  Someone wrote into the main office and asked me to do a product review!  I've never done this before so I am thrilled to be able to give you the straight dope on this product.

Before I actually get to the review, I'd like to take a second and say thanks to all of the people who write in and ask me questions about products that might seem to be out of my realm of expertise.  I am honored that you value my body of work, my world travel and my honest opinion about things.  it really makes an old boy feel good.  Thank you again for writing in and keep these requests coming!

Now, on to the product review.  Give me a second.  It seems as if I misplaced the all of the guys information.  It's on an index card and I just had it.  I set it down right here.  Oh, wait.  Here it is.  This is a question from Skjot Amundson from Bemidji, Minnesota.  Skjot says, "I'll be moving into a college dorm next year and I'd like to know what you think of the George Foreman Grille?"

Well Skjot, I'll be happy to get to that question in just a minute.  Before I do, I'd like to review another product and maybe it will help you, your family and friends out a bit as well.  The product I am speaking about is the fucking alphabet!  People are taking way too much liberty with the thing and it appears as if your parents are no exception.  I am assuming that your name is pronounced "Scott".  Am I right?  If I am, then why didn't your parents spell it that way?

I went as far as to use the Googler and look this ridiculous shit up.  You know what the Googler said?  It said that "Skjot" was a rare Norwegian spelling of the more traditional "Scott" and was given to royalty and Viking Warriors.  That leads me to this, Skjot....I feel dirty even saying your name right now....  Are you a Viking Warrior, Skjot?  If you are, you'd better be about 6'5'' tall, weight about 300 lbs, have long hair and a beard so unkempt that it looks like a pack of animals lives in the son of a bitch.  You'd better be walking around with a sword, a shield and a fucking club made from the heart wood of an ancient oak tree or some shit, and you'd better know how to pillage!

If you don't look like this and look more like a hipster wearing skinny jeans with the legs rolled up and wearing a flannel shirt, I hope some redneck comes up and takes his style back and drags your ass to the DMV to change your name on your drivers license.  Instead of Skjot or the more traditional "Scott", you need to change your name to Biff or Tad or Chaz or something else ridiculous.  Frankly, this shit is nothing short of fraud... you're not a Viking!

I'm so God damned mad now that I can't remember the stupid question you asked.  Where is that index card with the question on it?  Oh, I threw it in the trash, SKJOT!  Skjot?  Are you shitting me?  Skjot.  Okay, it says here that you are going to college and that you want to know if the George Foreman Grille is a good product.

Well, here we go.  Yeah, its probably a great product for cooking a burger, chicken breast or something like that.  Maybe even a grilled cheese, you know.  But a fucking Viking cooked shit with fire or ate the shit raw!  These were semi primitive battle whores that were talking about, not some dip shit millennial who could fuck up a bowl of Shredded Wheat!

Leave that product alone, you dumb ass.  I'm afraid you'll go to a frigging frat party, get loaded on cheap beer and come back to the dorm and try to do your hair with the fucking thing.  Look!  It's got moving parts and gets real hot.  It's above your pay scale.  Get yourself some crayons and a safe space, you dip shit!  Leave cooking and anything else food related, to anyone else other than yourself.

Well folks, that's it for now from the "product review" portion of this head ache.  I need to find a good glass of whiskey and a camp fire after answering that question.  Keep 'em coming in though.  I want all of you to be fully informed, even if you spell your name incorrectly.

Until next time....