Piss poor 

This is the story of how my piss ended up on a 350-pound man's face.

It was a frigid Gainesville night, and I was out on the town, enjoying a few gentleman's sodas. As anyone who's consumed a large number of liquids knows, when you've gotta go, you gotta go. And I went. A lot.

That's the luxury of being a guy, you see. I can pee anywhere, any time. Just pull it out, find a tree, a lawn ornament, a hallway, an extra-long pipe, and I've got a urinal. The world is my bathroom.

And why the hell should I have to wait in line with a bunch of chicks who take forever? I'm an American, I don't have to wait. I do what I want. So I pee outside.

This particular home had a nice, luxurious backyard, full of so many potential places for urination that it made settling on one location difficult. Each trip to the "bathroom" was a new adventure: Where do I pee next, the gazebo or the lawn gnome?

I settled on a tree. And man, was it cold out. Suffice to say that my manhood was not at its manliest on this particular evening. After a few moments of collecting myself and getting the pipes warmed up, I let a nice stream of urine fly out. It featured a healthy outpouring of steam that radiated before the piss even hit the ground.

The residents of this particular establishment has a pretty cute little dog, and he really loved people. Apparently, he was pretty cold too. Poor little guy. So he came running out back to find me, next to a tree, draining out my bladder.

I think you know where this is going. You probably also know that once you start peeing, it's impossible to stop.

So here's this dog, bathing itself in my running stream of steaming urine, and I'm in a desperate struggle to keep my piss away from him. I love dogs, I don't want to pee on one. But this little guy was really enjoying the heat. Like an incredibly awkward game of keep away, here I am with my dick out, trying to pee anywhere but on this dog, and he's just running wherever the urine flows.

Out of piss and disturbed by the situation, I hurried inside away from the dog and filled up another beer. I'd have to be more careful next time, I thought, and make sure the dog didn't find me when I went out to piss.

A few beers later, we find ourselves in the same situation, me and this dog. I started peeing in a remote corner of the yard behind some bushes, and out of nowhere, like he's got a radar on my piss, there he is, jumping into action.

The beers kept coming and the urine kept flowing. By the end of the debacle, I was tired of fighting with the dog and too drunk to care, so I just peed and he just sat there and enjoyed the warmth.

At this point in the night, the whole ordeal had become a bit too humorous, so I had to share with someone. I found my comrades for the night and told them the gritty details. "Don't pet the dog," I told them.

I sat down by the stereo, a few folks were dancing to the blaring music in front of me. One of them was a large black man. The type of guy that could shut down both a buffet and a Bar Mitzvah in one sitting. The only surviving member of the Fat Boys was working up a sweat on the dance floor, and he sat down at a recliner across from me and took a break.

And in runs the dog, looking for some attention. And oh look, he's dripping wet. He's rubbing up on the now seated large man. The guy pets the dog and picks up his hand. He looks at the moisture on it.

Turning to one of his friends, he says "The dog is wet."

"Must be running through some sprinklers outside," he says.

Not content with a mild sampling of my urine, he goes back for more, rubbing his hand firmly into the dog's piss-soaked coat. With sweat from the dance floor dripping down his face, the large man takes his wet hand with a heaping dose of my piss on it and proceeds to wipe it on his face.

I lost it. I had to tell someone. Someone I trusted, though, 'cuz I really don't feel like getting my ass kicked. So I run back to the group of friends and open my mouth. Before I can even get a word out, the music at the party cuts off instantaneously.

"HEY, EVERYBODY!" I hear. It's one of the girls who lives at the house. "I hear someone has been pissing on my dog, and that's really fucked up," she says. "Please, stop pissing on my dog!"

Oh... shit. Someone heard me tell the story before.


Out of the corner of my eye, I see our large friend still seated in his recliner.

We've gotta go before I get my ass kicked.

Faster than a stream of hot fluid, we were out of there. Fortunately, I was never implicated in that night's dog pissing incident. We returned for another party a few months later and the dog and I met again. Only this time, he had been hit by a car and was missing a leg.

Dumb dog.

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2003 - 2005
Reverend Hughes