/Rant: Luis Rants About…The Tyranny of Self-Flushing Urinals

I have a message for the greedy, mega-corporate fat-cats that want nothing more than to monopolize the wall-mounted piss receptacle market: Eat shit!

I understand that you urinal manufacturers are just trying to bring us one-step closer to the future by adding infa-red sensors to something I’m going to piss all over so I don’t have to worry about coming in contact with spooky germs, but, please, put a fucking manual flush button on the thing.

I love that you are trying to get us all to piss like they did on The Jetsons, but I shall not stand idly by as futuristic technology fails and I am forced to piss in to a troth of other people’s piss while getting splashback of the most foul order. When I get urinal splashback, I want it to be of moderate urine content that is mostly clear with a slight tinge of yellow. I like the illusion of clean water even if I’m 100% sure it’s not. I want the comfort of thinking that my splashback is mostly my own doing, but no. I have to deal with the thought of having at least 20 other dudes proxy pissing on my weiner-holding hands all because you, the wall pissing conglomerates, feel that we’ve evolved beyond leaver and push button technology. To you I say, fuck you.

All technology fails eventually, I just don’t want my dick in it when it does. I’ve seen Terminator, I know what them machine bastards are thinking. They’re a sinister lot that are hell bent on doing something to my manly parts. Today it’s splashback, tomorrow it’s carving up humans and wearing their hides to blend in to our societies so they may mate with our sinks.

Besides, who are you to tell me when I’m done pissing?  No piss eating robot is going to tell my dick when it’s done. My dick and I shall convene with my bladder to decide whether or not we have completed a given fluid evacuation. Maybe me, my dick and my bladder want to stand around and wait for the next batch of piss to fire forth? We are conservationists, after all. Why would we want to waste perfectly good piss-water on just a single flush when we can stand around for 12 hours and fill that fucker to the brim before I give it an epic flush? We wouldn’t be doing mother earth any good if we did it otherwise!

Sure, this rant may seem aimless and out of the blue, but, trust me; it comes from a very deep place with my soul. I was – I was once molested by an infared toilet. Not sexually. No, that kind of thing won’t happen until after the robot urinal uprising. I mean “molested” in the “stop fucking with me, it’s annoying” kind of way.

Many moon ago, when I was in college, I had to take a wicked poop. I, unlike most people, can shit anywhere. Give me a malaria-infested hole in the ground, and I’ll find a creative way to get my waste in there, without a touch of malaria entering my rectal region. Anyway, I rush to the nearest restroom and enter a stall. The toilet in front of me has a previously discussed infared sensor on it that flushes automatically when you heave your ass off the thing. What these machines don’t tell you is that their sensors have an operational that’s about 9,000 feet long and only about 2 feet wide. This means that toilet will probably flush the moment you walk in front of it, but the moment you take a half step to the side, it picks up nothing but empty air.

I pull down my unmentionables, ready to poop. Of course, I’m not a savage, so I slip out one of those paper ass gasket things. Those shiny sheets that are so thin that they’re practically an intangible concept; like freedom, or hope. I bend over and place the paper ass gasket on the seat. I set it up just right so all corners of my butt are being protected from the evils living on the toilet seat by a valiant sheet of near-nonexistence. The remaining portion of the ass gasket that you cut out to make room for your butt to hang, is floating lightly on the surface of the toilet water. I can feel the poop in me getting angry and starting a riot in my bowels, so I make haste. I rise and ready myself for the sitting. As soon as my torso exits the sensor’s field of view, the toilet flushes with a fury. The water swirls around the hanging piece of ass gasket paper that I left floating in the water. Before I can fully align my spine to stand up straight, the ass gasket gets sucked down in to a watery vortex of ridicule, like this was the toilet’s plan all along – to antagonize me.

I try it again. I set it up all nice and pretty-like, take a half-step out of the sensor’s view, WOOSH!! Off it goes again.

I try it a third time, this time I’m fully aware of the consequences and how to deal with the situation. I place the ass gasket on the seat and, without exiting the sensors field of view, I slowly turn around to sit on the seat.

WOOSH!!

For a quick second I think, “Fuck it. I’ll shit on my pants.” And, no. I don’t me “in my pants.” They were already down. I, for only a second, thought it would be a great idea if I just pooped directly on my pants that were wrapped around my ankles. I didn’t. Instead, my hand darts between my legs, past my generous helping of dick, and grabs hold of the paper just before it flushes down.

Now, at this point I know there’s no saving that thing. If I pull it out and sit on it, the entire purpose of the ass gasket’s existence is negated. But, for just once in my life, I just want a win. This is no longer about a need to poop. It’s all about me telling this toilet, with its red demon eyes, that it can’t control me. That I am the master of my shitting ritual. That he is my slave and I’ll poop in his goddamn mouth if I want to.

We struggle. He tugs, I tug. We are two colossi battle for the fate of the world.

The paper is soaked. As if it were slow motion, I can see its edges tearing. My hope fades. My ass hates me. The paper rips and flushes. I am left with but a slice of ass gasket in my hand. I was defeated.

To hell with it, I thought. I pulled out another ass gasket, pressed it over my ass and sat down with it. I finally accomplished my goal…but at what cost?

Admittedly, not much at all. But, still. That whole thing sucked.

Urinal manufacturers of America, I am here to tell you that I, like most Americans, believe in my freedom to piss, poop and flush at will. You are infringing on my personal piss freedoms. I fear that if you do not correct your heinous atrocities there shall be a vast uprising of human males with pissy hands demanding another Boston Tea party to show you just how we feel…or maybe a teabag party is more appropriate….