It's the one with the wet ass...

Jake Johannsen was pretty damn funny last night. I really enjoyed his bits. He did a nice, long set that kept me laughing. This morning's title is taken directly from his work. He was talking(albeit trite) about putting the seat down(and you all know what I'm talking about). He said that one of the differences between men and women is that men 'check the runway before a landing' and that the person who is at fault when there is a splashdown is the one with the wet ass.

I thought it was funny. He's also a very nice guy. He was pleasant to talk to, very friendly.

Of course, his act, along with Joey's recent antics, have inspired me to share the somewhat hilarious, untellable pee story that I have. I tend to be a little graphic, so please, don't read it if you're not comfortable with that, please, read Garfield or some shit like that.

Let's set the way-back machine to Halloween 1998. I'm living in a crappy apartment in Ft. Green, Brooklyn, working for a soulless company for going on 10 years, and Wendy and I are going to a party at my former boss' apartment. We didn't really dress up, she pretended to be an employee of my company(at the time she was working for their direct competition), and I went as my superhero alter-ego, Velveetaman. We had a lovely time. Plenty to drink, I believe there was even some dancing. It was great, but it was time to go home. We collected ourselves and left to go find the subway. This is where things went totally wrong. We were mildly altered, and couldn't find the damn subway. We wandered around Manhattan, having given up on the subway, trying to find a cab to take us back to Brooklyn. When we finally did, another woman hailed it simultaneously. She was kind enough to share it with us, but got in a fight with the cabbie because he wouldn't take her deeper into Greenwich Village, which was clogged with the big parade. She leaves the cab, and we head for the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn. Right about now in this story is when I start to feel the pressure of all the beer I drank on my bladder. I figure it's no big deal, as it's not a very long drive back to my apartment. Of course, on Halloween, there's a shitload of traffic. The bridge is completely packed with cars, and my predicament is getting worse and worse. Wendy, being the kind soul that she is, was concerned as I did a little I-gotta-pee dance while sitting in the cab. I started to become desperate. I had to go, and I had to go bad. She held my hand, and I damn near broke it, I was squeezing it so hard. I started seeing how far down I could roll the window, just in case I had to whip it out and piss out the window. I was going crazy. We spent what felt like an hour on the bridge before we finally entered Brooklyn. Fortunately for me, I didn't live far from Manhattan, so we were thankfully on my street within just a couple minutes after exiting the bridge. When we stopped in front of my apartment, I said something along the line of "you've got this, right?" I jumped out of the cab, ran to the other side of a parked van, and peed for what felt like 5 minutes(I'm sure it was a solid 90 seconds of urination, but I could be wrong). I have never felt so relieved in my life, and it showed, especially in puddle form. Wendy, dear that she is, waited patiently for me to finish, and when I did, I gave her a very stern, yet still drunk look and said "let us never speak of this again."

We, of course, tell this story whenever we're together, and it's been told to various people close to us on several occasions. We're not very good at not talking about it. We're funny that way. What do you expect from people born on the same day, but a year apart?