We Need Rain And A Pee Story

 

So. I walked the big garden yesterday and things are looking good. We had to water using pumps submerged in our ponds. Our part of Texas has been in drought for years now and my family is lucky we store our own water.

But even clean pond water is no substitute for rain. An inch of rain dropped from a spring thunderstorm is Mother Nature’s mother’s milk to plants. Lightening charges fill the rainwater full of nitrogen and the plants respond to it with unique vigor.

If it weren’t for the good compost and compost tea I produce, and the agronomy practiced by Streaker Jones, we’d be a sunk ship without rain.

I’ve been working on some product ideas for compost tea. I’ve got the product designers at our hemp clothing factory working on a material we can use to make compost tea bags. Compost tea is a quickly perishing commodity and I’m trying to make it more user friendly to home gardeners.

I keep wanting to use the term “tea baggers” in humorous advertising but I’d feel guilty with the associations. I keep seeing animated corn plants making compost tea for their garden and everything grows to gargantuan proportions. Like the Micky Mouse part of the movie Fantasia- The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. I was going to call the corn men Tea Baggers.

The once happy corn men start to freak out when they over-use and abuse the power of compost tea. The Japanese eggplants would become ninja warriors and the jalapeno peppers would be drug cartel hit men. Of course it would take a three-to-five-minute commercial to properly present the concept and who can afford that.

Streaker Jones and I drove down to Houston this one time back in the late sixties to see Fantasia at the old Alabama Theater located in the Montrose area of town. Streaker Jones had just perfected a new mushroom strain for one of his agronomy classes down to Texas A&M and I was doing a term research paper on hallucinogenic drugs for a psychology course I was taking at UT. That would be the real fucking UT– the University of Texas.

Anyway, we were stoned out of our gourds.

I love that Disney movie and will, obviously, drive hundreds of miles to see it. When we got to the Alabama, we were surprised to see how big it was. The center isle was fifty seats across, and we took the center seats in the center isle in what I remember to be row eight. Maybe it was row nine, but who gives a shit? We were right smack-dab in the middle in the front.

Maybe three minutes into it, I had to pee. But I somehow managed to sit through the entire movie without disturbing anyone by working my six-feet-four through twenty-five other stoners to the isle. But when the movie was over, I almost crushed a thousand stoners in mad rush to the bathroom.

When I got there, the line was out the door. I waited and did the foot shuffle that a full bladder instigates, and I bitched the bitches of a full-bladder sufferer. When I got inside the bathroom, I noticed that the urinals were the old fashioned kind that were built into the walls and floor, and placed close together for efficiencies. You could stand over the trough on the floor, lean against the wall and then point and shoot. Men were standing shoulder-to-shoulder leaning against the wall, peeing.

I’m looking at the rows of men lining each wall of urinals and I notice that the one at the far end is unused. I’m standing there hallucinating and maybe starting to bleed internally from excess bladder pressure, and these Houston assholes are leaving a blank spot ahead of me.

“Fuck it,” I said to Streaker Jones behind me and whoever else was near. “I’m using that one.”

I had that getting-started problem that you get when you hold pee too long, so it took me at least a minute to start. I’m leaning against the wall with my head rested on my forearm and my eyes shut in that practiced, forced relaxation method we all use at times like those. My pee stream started with a whimper– a bare trickle of urine, and graduated to fire hose proportions.

I’m standing there “Oooing and aahing,” likely making sex-pleasure noises I had to pee so bad. I peed and peed and peed. When I finished and opened my eyes, I noticed that I had out-peed the entire theater– I had emptied the place. I washed my hands, always have and always will, and walked out.

Streaker Jones was standing in front of a small crowd of men outside the door. The men were staring at me like I was a two-headed snake and Streaker Jones was laughing his ass off. “What’s so fucking funny?” I asked him.

When he could catch his breath, he said to me, he said, “Weren’t no urinal inna corner!”

“Huh?” I’m never at a loss for words. “What do you mean?”

Streaker Jones just laughed and pointed me back to the bathroom. I walked back into it and sure enough, I had peed on the floor. Hell, I peed all over the floor.

I’m told that a super-full adult male bladder might contain a quart of pee. Bullshit. A men’s room with a dozen urinals down each wall has a big floor plan, and I managed to wet most of this one.

I don’t worry about peeing on the floor anymore because I pee in sinks. A sanitary and socially-responsible pee alternative.

I need to go now because I have promised Squirt we would go out and try to get adopted by a cat this morning. So drink your Carta Blanca beer responsibly and I’ll see you manana, y’all.

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6 Responses to “We Need Rain And A Pee Story”

  1. Theo says:

    Stoner stories are real funny…I always laughed working the ER when people would come in with heart attacks and aortic dissections after doing coke…. never did drugs myself, ever…… Any Hoo…. I read with great interest in your little flash back about your reference to your hemp clothing factory. Is your clothing line flying off the shelves? I mean I was never really into that texture and though why settle when I could be wearing \genuine\ burlap…… I was in the Coast Guard in Miami the late 70s and early 80s and saw people do enough coke and pot to make Brian De Palma’s \Scar Face\ look like a piker. Did you come up with a process for removing the odor? It has been many years but as I recall Mary Jane stinks. Hell the dopers in the Coast Guard could smell it real easy and were better than the dogs…. (coke was a little different)…… It used to be that marijuana was sold based on how \dank\ it was. I wouldn’t want to wear clothes that smell rotten. Second how do you get the THC out of the fibers? Even if I could wear burlapesque stuff, I wouldn’t want to walk around in clothes where my movements, body heat and sweat activates the THC and I become stoned at work while treating people……. let me know….. One male nurse told me one time that hemp was merely ok for dirt cheap tennis shoes that didn’t make the cut for real athletics…….. (but are probably fine for skipping around campus for the really smug)…….

  2. admin says:

    Theo. Wow. Biting criticism once again. Snappy, point-on counter punches. Maybe I have mis-read you, I thought you might have a positive take on something. I just responded to your last comment and pretty much said what I have to say to you. I encourage you to stick around and poke fun at me as long as you want. You can be funny and smart.

    But I’ll likely start to ignore you if you can’t be smart and give something of yourself. It seems you spend solid time saying what you say. Please say something.

  3. Theo says:

    (Your last response to me mentioned above is not up in the system as I type this)

    Mooner: Hey it is your blog and you post things are either on your mind or dear to your heart. However, the onus is on YOU to defend your position. There is typically point then counter-point then back to point & etc. I was using humor and parody (without what you all call “homophobic references”) to fire up your fan base to see if they would come to your rescue, not that you need it, but to bring more people into our little tete-a-tete. However, your “to quoque arguments” are getting a very repetitive. I was saying, apparently a little too obliquely, that essentially hemp sucks for clothing. (It sucks for paper, it sucks for fabric, it sucks for food, it even sucks for rope for that matter.) I was hoping that you tell me about new technology or a new method you use in your company to make hemp more palatable to the consumer market. However, I get the fall back “you’re mean” response. Prehaps your a little too tied into the whole “The Clampetts meets Ed Bagely” thing you got going on in your blogging for a more serious discourse. So I think that we’ll part company and I’ll leave for good. This will be a clean break, no harm no foul. (Unlike Squat’s and my D-I-V-O-R-C-E from his blog… sing it Tammy, sing it) You have my e-mail, drop me a line sometime.

    Thank you for your kind attention, Theo………

  4. Squatlo says:

    Just for the record… the hemp used for clothing, rope, paper, contains no THC.

    Never did drugs? Maybe that’s what’s wrong… hates alcohol, never been high… stewing in his natural juices.

    Mooner baby, you’ll be hearing from “Theo” before you’ve rinsed the piss off of Gram’s toothbrush…

  5. So this Theo jackass is trying to get attention from your followers in hopes to getting a few maybe? That’s the only reason someone would be an ass on another’s blog. “stir up your fanbase”? Half the shit he wrote didn’t even make sense! Mooner, flag that fuck as spam already and put this shit starter where he belongs!!…before he pisses me off!

  6. Mooner, I don’t care what anyone says, you’re the shit – the underwire within my bra; the elastic in my drawers; the little spring thingy that goes in the middle of the toilet paper roll and allows it to unwind so that I can pull of some squares and wipe my bum. I’m a little bored of Theo.

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