At my house I routinely have to sneak out to enjoy an old vice of mine, smoking. This morning I called my dog, "Milo", a short legged fat little guy, not unlike myself in that regard, and we went out to the porch. My neighbors have a giant female Labrador that leapt excitedly as "Milo" the small Cocker Spaniel puffed his chest out and surveyed the territory, taking special note of the over-sized female. He gave a look up at me as I fumbled with shaking hands in the cold November wind to jump-start a stubborn butane lighter that had seen its better days. I looked at him, and then at the horse-like Labrador and nodded in the affirmative.
Milo proudly strutted into the neighbors yard to a bush just 6 inches from the maximum length of the chain on the female's neck and defiantly took a long, in your face, whiz on their bushes. The female seemed to know instinctively that she was now powerless and she hunkered down on her belly, placing her giant head on her paws in a submissive position. Milo finished up and casually walked back to the porch and sat down beside me, facing the rising sun, ignoring the giant female entirely as she whined a lonely wale.
My wife cracked open the screen door just long enough to see that I was taking a draw on a cigarette and give her usual disapproving scowl. I gave her the same non-acknowledgment that Milo had given the Labrador and she let the door slam shut with a huff and disappeared into the house. Her domain.
It occurred to me that Milo and I are quite alike in our territorial quests. We both have marked out a spot and claimed it defiantly as our own to the chagrin of the females in our lives. I don't recall setting out to prove a point, nor is it in my nature to be disrespectful to the female of the species, but some things are simply what they are by nature. Which brings me to the subject of my penis. (How did that happen? Smooth segway Booth !)
When it come to being a man, his urine and the mechanics of his manhood, there are certain undeniable facts, albeit quirky, but nonetheless, fact. It was not by our own design to awake each day with King Arthur's sword tall and ready for battle. It just happens. Further, it was not by our own design to have testosterone filled veins and a conquerors ambition. That too just happens to be. Not unlike our hairy legs, hairy backs, natural-born upper body strength and the like. It just is, and therefore is a force to be reckoned with by all who choose to interact with us. It is what makes us who and what we are.
This territorial defiance doesn't stop at smoking on the porch or peeing defiantly on the neighbor's bushes, not by a long shot. For example; In a public restroom, whether it be a bar or a church, if I stand at a urinal, which always have one or both of the following; A urinal cake, (No drunk guys, it's NOT a breath mint) or a plastic splash barrier, or one of these combos.
(Ladies, if you are unfamiliar with these things please see the following illustration)
Notice the blue splash guard underneath the combo. It has several holes in it, including one dead center. I always shoot precisely into the center-most hole. It is like target practice at the gun range. In fact, if I am drinking in a bar and find that I am unable to achieve at least 90% accuracy, I consider it the definitive indication that I have reached my alcohol limit. For me this is as good as a sobriety test and I immediately go home.
If the pink breath mint exists I shoot in a circular fashion around the outer circumference, doing my part to erode the mint down to the size of a lifesaver. At this point I, or my fellow brethren, will begin a direct assault upon the pink intruder until it is roughly the size of a Tic-Tac and falls through one of the holes into sewer oblivion. This is however, an unspoken procedure among myself and other men. We don't need to talk about it except when one of us has finally achieved the complete and utter destruction of the invading pink oracle that invaded our blue world.
Now, I cannot speak for all men, but I have a special quirk of my own. I do not, and will not clean a toilet. I would rather pay someone a weeks pay to get down there and stick their hands in that ungodly bowl of putridity than to do it myself. This has been a point of contention between my wife and I for over 30 years. She, on the other hand, will kneel before it, take cleanser, and (ugh... I just threw up in my mouth...) stick her hand in there and clean it. I am appreciative, but always from a distance. However, I do have my own way of helping her. If there is a "ring-o-funk" or most especially if there's a brown chip of "fecal-nast" on the side of the bowl, I will employ the long-term erosion technique of peeing directly on the spot, even if it takes weeks or months, until much like the Sphinx of Egypt, I have weathered it away with my torrential downpours and alleviated the fecal-invader once and for all. I consider this not only an admirable all-male talent, but an accomplishment worthy of annual annuity payments.
I suspect it has always been this way. Although I can find no proof, I strongly suspect that just prior to Napoleon Bonaparte's attack and subsequent conquer of Eastern Poland, he walked to the "Welcome To Poland" sign and took a territorial squirt over the border before yelling "Charge!"
I further expect that Neanderthal men did the same with caves, and that even to this day, late at night when all is still, the Pope hangs his holy pickle over the balcony and affirms his rule of Vatican City.
SO, In conclusion I offer these words of both wisdom and solace. Men cannot help the way they are. It was all in the big plan whether you believe in creationism or in the great primordial soup recipe. The instinct to seize and conquer all lands great and small, those annoying dribblings on the toilet seat, or the marking of the four corners of the yard or the writing of one's name in the snow are not only not our fault, but are also a vital part of the natural order of things. It defines us. It shouts out to the world "I was here!", and that is the very strength that our female counterparts need and expect from us. We protect the world, we clearly define the very boundaries of what is ours and what is theirs. We make the world an orderly place with our penises.
Someday one of us will urinate on Mars and all the other planets we as mankind shall reach, and I highly doubt it will be done by anyone squatting to "tinkle", and we will build upon those planets and provide for our wives and children new worlds in which to explore and enjoy. Again, all because of our penises.
Ladies, I am glad I could be of intellectual assistance.
Guys, put one in the win column for us, and don't use the urinal next to me.
Peace,
JB
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