I’m a guy and guys have lots of different things about them that make them unique. There is one universal thing most guys have in common, though, and that is a deep love and appreciation for the comic form known as Bathroom Humor. There are occasionally women I’ll run into who understand the genius of this art form and my wife is not one of them. I will mention a lady a little later on who would go toe to toe with any man or boy when it comes to the intricacies of the humble fart, but for now, I have a story to tell that I teased several episodes back. You see, there is no better bathroom humor than humor that actually begins in a bathroom, so now I shall regale you with the time I peed on my leg. I’m Michael Blackston and this is Funny Messy Life.
It starts with The Statler Brothers. Growing up in the 1980s with parents and family who favored country music, my wife fell in love with the tight harmonies of The Statlers. She didn’t force their music on me when we started dating because she thought most people who liked them were already taking Metamucil everyday and getting letters from the likes of AARP and Back In The Day Weekly. She didn’t realize that I also like sweet, sweet harmonies, super high tenors, and basses so deep you can feel it in your pants. After a while, she found this out and we spent many hours in the car listening to them.
You can imagine the glee on Kayla’s face when I told her I’d gotten us box seats to see the Statlers at the Georgia Theatre in Athens - you guessed it … Georgia - for something we were celebrating, Probably her birthday, our anniversary, or maybe in those days, the fact that we hadn’t gotten a collection call about a late bill that week, which would make it seem frivolous to buy concert tickets if that were the case. Nevertheless, she was overjoyed at the prospect of hearing those pants punching bass lines live.
The night of the concert arrived and my bride and I put on our nice clothes - we call them our Go To Church clothes in the south - because we had box seats and we didn’t want the hoity-toity people around us to be able to tell we were driving a car the finance company was chasing us to repossess.
Oh look, Rupert. It appears we have the dregs of humanity in our amidst. Shall I fan their stink in the other direction?
Oh, do, Bedilia. I simply can’t fathom the thought of breathing the same air. Fa Fa Fa Fa!
Church clothes it was with a touch of haughtiness to boot - xomething my grandma would have called Puttin’ on airs. Kayla wore a dress and I wore a button down shirt - freshly pressed - and light tan slacks. My hair was parted perfectly and since Kayla had long locks back then, I assume they blew beautifully in the breeze around her face like the golden halo of an angel. (Actually, her hair is more reddish brown than golden, but I’m painting a mentsal picture here.)
We got to our seats and tried our best to look like we belonged in the same room with Rupert and Bedilia. We even secretly sniffed our armpits to make sure we didn’t stink. Then we sniffed each other’s armpits to make sure we were right the first time and before long the concert started.
I don’t remember who the opening act was, but I do recall she was fantastic. Her show lasted about thirty minutes before the Statlers came out and between the sets, the crew had to switch the stage for the main event. They gave us a fifteen minute intermission while they did that, so every person in the building decided at once to take the opportunity to go to the restroom.
Bedilia my dear, I believe we should retire to the loo, don’t you think?
Oh I do, Rupert I simply doooooooo!
Kayla and I went too and normally, as you probably already know, Kayla takes longer getting back because the line to the ladies restroom is backed up like a Soviet cold war era line for … well … toilet paper. But that night, she made it back first because I had myself a delay.
The men’s facility was packed and all the urinals were taken. Thank God because I got into a stall and what happened next wouldn’t have been fun in a crowd.
I assumed the position over the bowl - yes, I lifted the lid - and unzipped my pants. I had to go pretty bad and I was closed off from the public, so there were no bladder freeze issues, and I let ‘er rip. It was all good for a few seconds until I realized that I could feel a distinct pressure on the front of my left pant leg, like the caress of a gentle spring rain. I casually looked down and saw what was happening.
It wasn’t a gently spring rain.
Somehow, the stream of my pee was divided into two. One stream found its rightful place in the direct center of the porcelain bowl, while the other stream seemed to hit some invisible wall and bounce back onto my pants leg, creating a track about two and a half inches wide from mid-thigh all the way down to my ankle. I mentioned I was wearing light tan slacks. Do you know what happens to light tan slacks when they meet a two and a half inch wide stream of pee? They make a dark patch from mid-thigh all the way down to your ankle.
I didn’t know what to do. I performed some sort of emergency jiggle and reincorporated the two streams into the toilet, but the damage had already been done. I had to make a plan.
First, I would wait until I was sure everyone was out of the bathroom. I’d probably have to miss the first part of the concert, but that was okay because they’d turn down the lights and I’d be less conspicuous.
Second, I would frantically soak paper towels in water and try to scrub as much of the pee out of my pants as possible. This would make the track on my pants infinitely worse, but at least I wouldn’t stink and be the butt of Rupert and Bedilia’s jokes.
Last, I would hold my leg up to the blow dryer on the wall and hopefully no one would be the wiser.
That was the plan.
Here’s what actually happened.
It took forever for the bathroom to empty out. There was a dude in the other stall who must’ve had rotten tacos right before the show. After he finally left, I leaned down to peek under the bottom of the stall and make sure I was alone. By then, the pee track had gone cold and I had that wet clothes feeling down my leg, which made me walk, when I left the stall, like all the blood had gone out of my leg as I tried to minimize the contact with my skin.
When I got to the sink, I found that there were no paper towels. I considered soaking some toilet paper with water to scrub out the pee, but we’ve all seen what happens to TP when it gets wet, so that was a no go. I had no choice but to try and use the dryer on the wall and hope I didn’t smell.
It seems an easy thing to do to lift your leg up to those dryers when you plan it in your head, but in reality, you’d have to be either extremely tall, extremely agile, or fast enough jumping up and down so that more hot air than not gets to the spot on your pants.
My only option was the jumping and I’m not that fast. I tried it and I knew right away that it was an exercise in futility. It was over. I had to make my way back to the seat as cleverly as I could so as few people as possible saw the art running down my leg.
I left the bathroom, still doing that floppy leg walk because I hate the feeling of wet clothes on my skin, but I added the spectacle of trying to keep as much of my thighs together as I could to hide the spot.
I hobbled like Egor all the way back to my seat and Kayla looked at me concerned.
“What took you so long?”
I told her the story and ended it with a final declaration. “I’m pissed off.”
Of course, my adoring wife couldn’t pass up the opportunity to reply. She said, “Sounds to me like you’re pissed ON.”
I could have sworn over behind me I heard, “FA FA FA FA FA FA!”
It wasn’t funny when it happened, but now I look back on it as one of my favorite stories to tell when I want people to give me that face that asks, What’s wrong with you?
Which brings me to the lady I know who appreciates that kind of humor. Her name’s Kelley and she’s a dear friend. I’ve done several theatre shows with her and even mentioned this once before in a story called, The Stuff Wings Are Made Of, but it’s worth mentioned again.
Just before were were to go on stage - I mean right before we were about to go on - I whispered into Kelley’s ear, “Hey … did I ever tell you about the time I peed on my leg?”
She died laughing and it’s been a running joke between us ever since.
Are you the creator of this podcast?
and pick the featured episodes for your show.
Connect with listeners
Podcasters use the RadioPublic listener relationship platform to build lasting connections with fansYes, let's begin connecting
Find new listeners
Understand your audience
Engage your fanbase