The 5 Types of Guys You’ll See at the Urinal

29 Oct

We got another new columnist at Satirical Thoughts.  We will call him Dick Weiner and he might be dropping in a few posts from time-to-time.  Dick emailed me this article and I thought it would be great to run.  

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It’s something men experience everyday (No, not morning wood). The urge to pee.  A man must make the trek to the fabled office bathroom with a full bladder. Sure women experience this sensation of having to pee, as well, but I have no idea what women do once that bathroom door swings shut.  Men enter the bathroom with two rules; 1. Never say a word, a head nod may even be too much, and 2. Buffer Rule, always keep a urinal between you and the other pisser.  Despite these rules, there are a wide variety of personalities that you encounter draining their dragons.

The Pride and Joy

One hand on your main decision maker and the other on your hip, you want everyone to know that you’re proud of what you’re packing.  As you stand there releasing all the sweat from your liver, you let everyone see what you’re handling.  You step up to that urinal like Beyoncé ready to impress 100,000 fans with your fierce stream. This is your show buddy.  Meanwhile I am now forced to enact the two urinal buffer, so I am not forced to look at your disco stick spewing Redbull, Michelob Ultra, and appletinis (only cause you were trying to score with some sloots).

The Fireman

I grab that firehose of mine with two hands and aim for dear life. The Fireman guys like me, usually rush to the urinal as the threat of Poseidon’s wrath threatens.  We are filled with (along with a pressurized half gallon of sterile liquid) fear that you might not be able to wear these pants again later in the week.  When you pull out your personal ever ripe banana, you look for no surprises as you furiously aim into that blue urinal cake.  You don’t trust your “Goon for the Poon” as too many times has it had errant expulsions of fluids.  Meanwhile everyone else is judging you on your inability to control your spray gun.  They are also compelled to make sure you wash your hands as they spray back on both of your boobie holders reminds some of the Japanese tsunami of 2011.

The Rollercoaster

“Look MA NO HANDS!!!!!” I’m not entirely sure how these dudes do it, but they wiggle out their twizzler and let it do its own work.  The Rollercoasters are the guys that when caught cheating with a Snookie look-a-like, they blame it all on their little Cyclops having a mind of its own.  These are also the dudes that will break guy coded and talk, and they are likely to go full pants down as they stand there.   Meanwhile, when I see this guy I just throw on a poncho, sidle up to the urinal beside him, and listen to how he snorted coke off a stripper’s ass at 4 a.m.

Business Tryhard

You roll up to the urinal and, somehow, simultaneously whip out your phone and your Bob Barker Microphone. You stand proudly at that urinal in a pose worthy of a stock photo for multitasking.  The entire time you stand there pouring out some homemade lemonade, you’re eyes never leave your phone, and you make everyone else feel unproductive.  If you are between the ages of 26 and 41, you’re just checking on emails, your kid’s latest homework assignments, and messages from your wife on what she wants in a new dishwasher.  A Business Tryhard aged below 26 and above 42, is probably just sending snaps of their true money maker.  Meanwhile you just force me to leave and go up a floor cause I can’t risk being in a snap of your little pistol

Squatter

The king. You found a way to increase you’re paid for pooping time. You stroll into the lavatory with a mission.  You fool everyone as you enter your flush corner office, build a luxurious nest, and plop down for a five minute siesta. You my friend have mastered life, nothing can take you down, not even a hard 3 p.m. TPS report deadline, as you perch upon your version of the Iron Throne. Meanwhile nobody can tell if you are either in there squeezing out a redwood like Marshall from accounting, or if you’re in there letting the recycled air circulate around your extension cord.  Insults of “You sit to PEE!” roll off you, as you smile into the bliss that is extra “paid pooping time.”

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