It was time for me as a certified man, a man's man, a manly man, armed with actual chest hair, to step up and defend my gender against the female onslaught. I'll admit that we have been taking a beating of late, and are holding up as well as cheap dime store toilet paper on chili night. Now that's a chilling picture, but a little bathroom humor is fully appropriate given what I experienced today. I thought that I had found a men only get out of jail free card, but, alas, I found this new panacea to be fleeting. What am I prattling on about? Well, let me tell you what I saw, saw with mine own two eyes. I have heard ceaseless criticism from the "fairer sex" that men have all the grace and tact of a drunken bull elephant on quarter beer night at a western saloon. We have been told, among other things, that we have no idea how to pee. They cite as their evidence the tide pools commonly seen at the base of most of the world's toilets. Well, I finally had some new evidence to come to our defense! My finding might have been the biggest news story of the year that did not involve Sarah Palin. After I flushed the urinal today at work, I started to walk over to the sink to wash my hands, even though I was quite sure that I did not pee on them. Anyhow, somehow I was compelled to look back at the urinal in mid flush. What I saw was a vigorous steam of water rushing about the bowl, and to my delight, I saw several drops spill out on the floor. You see, the river of moisture is not our fault! This new finding seemed to vindicate men everywhere for everything and anything they had ever done wrong or might do wrong. Men as pigs? I think not.
Well, my man-type victory dance was short lived. It was as short lived as a plump cricket in a bat convention. One moment I fully expected to be carried up and down the hallways on the shoulders of my bretheren. The next, I was as low as the belly on a possum with a gland disorder. For at that moment, I went into the bathroom stall to gather a dignified amount of toilet paper to blow my nose. There, on the wall of the stall, was an unmistakeable smear of number two. I was so deflated that I shed a single tear. Man, we really are pigs.
