Because there has to be a first post sometime

On a Scale of One to Ten, Urinate

This is the story about how I once peed in a Wesson Oil bottle over a video game.

A long time ago, when I first started contracting out to the apartment complex, all of the maintenance guys used to play video games at lunch. We were particularly taken with WWE RAW on Playstation. In WWE RAW, you could create custom characters and play with up to three of your friends or enemies. For a Playstation game, the creation portion was fairly deep. You could pick your body type and adjust the size/shape, both male or female; you could pick a hairstyle; you could customize your outfit with various accessories; you could pick your own ring entrance and move set; and you could adjust the color or pattern on every single part - with almost endless variations.

Everyone else created reasonably realistic depictions of "normal" wrestlers. I made Lex Luthor and The Incredible Hulk. I also made a female wrestler called Crack Ho, who was skeletal thin with grey ashy skin, wearing a bra and panties with dollar signs all over them. I used to like watching wrestling when it was big stupid dudes wearing outlandish outfits and the whole thing was like a live-action comic book. I haven't watched in years, because now the characters are too "realistic," and it's just no fun. Too much thug life leather, not enough feather boas.

Every day at lunch, for months, we would have tournaments in our friend Chuck's apartment. Tag Team, Singles Matches, etc. We even wrote down the match lists, and bet sodas on the outcome. The object of the game, as in life, was to talk as much sh!t as possible while simultaneously destroying your opponent. I'm kidding, of course. It did really get heated from time to time, with screaming and cursing and threats of violence.

"Dude, I swear to GOD if you don't tag in I'm gonna beat your ass for real."

"If you stop what you're doing and help me cheat, right now, I will buy your lunch tomorrow, anywhere you want to eat. Even the steakhouse. I mean it."

When Chuck "betrayed" our old boss Jack by turning his back on him during a tag team match, Jack looked over at Chuck and said, with all sincerity, "I hope you die."

Me, I once swung a controller around and into the floor like William Wallace swung the mace around in Braveheart. I also once jumped up from the couch and kicked a whole game system into the air (that'll teach it), but that was over another game we'd played. I was on a RAW losing streak for nearly two months when, out of frustration, I created a character I named "F*ckin Loser," who was pretty much just a depiction of me in a T-shirt and jeans. Ironically, "F*ckin Loser" was unstoppable for weeks afterward.

Anyway, this stuff just became an obsession with all of us (this is back when my work was fun). We talked about it during the day, needling each other, lying about secret plans, plotting shocking backstabbing heel turns during Tag Team matches. We ended up staying after work to play, sometimes for a couple of hours.

I had recently lost a "Bra and Panties" match. What this meant is that the loser of the match had to go to the creation part and change the outfit of his MALE character to just a bra and panties, and he had to play with that character EXCLUSIVELY until he won another match.

So I was playing with the Incredible Hulk wearing a pink bra and panties.

After work one day, I could stand it no longer, and challenged someone to a match. I had to get the Hulk out of those pink panties, man. HAD TO. It was of the utmost importance that my imaginary superhero wrestler maintain his quiet dignity.

We were right in the middle of the match when Chuck's friend knocked on the door. I forget his name, so we'll call him Rob.

Rob burst through the door wearing a fast food uniform. Game was paused. I was winning when it was paused.

"I got to have some pee, Charles," he said, a frantic look on his face. We all started laughing.

Rob explained further. "They about to test me, and I been smokin up. I need that pee."

Chuck laughed and said no. We laughed because none of us had ever seen anyone beg for urine before.

"PLEASE CHARLES," Rob wailed, and produced a small balloon from his pocket. "All you got to do is p!ss in this balloon, and I can sneak it up in there some way, but I got to have it. I can't lose this job, man."

Chuck again laughed and said no. We laughed again because, well, pee in a balloon.

"Now Charles," Rob said, leaning forward and getting serious. "You know you can fit your little d!ck in this balloon hole and get a brother out of a tight. I got bills to pay, Charles. You'd put that jimmy in there if some chickenhead rolled through the door."

We were on the floor. Well, some of us were. I was beginning to get irritated. I was WINNING a few minutes ago. I needed to get back to WINNING, so I could strip the bra and panties off the Hulk. IT WAS VERY VERY IMPORTANT THAT I GET THE BRA AND PANTIES OFF THE HULK.

After several more minutes of PLEASE CHARLES I could take it no longer. I turned to Rob and said, "Hey man, if I pee for you, will you leave and let us finish this match?"

"Dog, I'm out the door soon as you finish." He looked so grateful.

"I'm not peeing in a balloon. I'll pee all over myself trying to get it in there. Find something else to put it in. You can put it in the balloon later."

Rob looked over at Chuck. "Let me get one of your cups, Charles."

"Hell no you can't have one of my cups! I got to drink out of those!"

Rob started looking around Chuck's kitchen area. "What else you got? You got a soda bottle?"

"No."

"What about this?" Rob had fished a Wesson Oil bottle out of a cabinet. It looked like it was empty.

"Fine."

Rob ran a little water in the bottle, sloshed it around, and poured it into the sink. He handed it over to me.

I took it into the bathroom and did the deed, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all because I didn't want to splash my leg with pee. When I finished, I held it up and looked at the results.

There, floating in my drug-free pee, were great globules of Wesson Oil.

I took it back into the living room. "When they test this," I said to Rob as I put the bottle in his hand, "they're gonna take you straight to the hospital."

Rob gave me a confused look and left, carrying a complete stranger's urine in a bottle of cooking oil. I lost the match. Another week passed before I was finally able to peel the bra and panties off The Incredible Hulk.

republished from my other blog - it was just so empty here, like my black little soul!