I have a terrible confession to make: I pee sitting down.

Yeah, okay, guys, stop cackling. You win, I have no desire to get into a pissing contest with you. What Real Man (tm) would pee sitting down (or admit to it, anyway). I get it.

There's a reason for it, and not because I can't aim. Oh, I can get the sight reticle on the target okay, but it's like there's an imperfection in the barrel or something, because I never know what direction the actual stream is going to take. 45 degrees left? 45 degrees right? Both? (Yeah, both. It's like I put my hands over the top of a garden hose or something, and a quick check of my fingers shows, yeah, they're in the right place). Or it could just spray out every which way like somebody's lawn sprinkler on a hot day.

That's an imperfect analogy, though, because if a rifle has a flaw in the barrel, the results are predictable and repeatable. Me peeing? God knows, I may hit the bowl, the floor, the wall, or some innocent bystander. Flip a coin.

Do other guys have this problem? Beats me, I only know I've never discussed it or seen it discussed elsewhere. Do men walk around with a burning, secret shame because they can't aim their pee, or because they secretly sit down on the toilet themselves but won't admit it? Do we need a Pee-ers anonymous, with a 12-step program for Men Who Can't Hit the Toilet Bowl? How can I know, I have no idea what you Real Men (tm) talk about in your smoke-filled (but hopefully not pee-filled) caves.

There is an upside, though. This disability makes me a great housemate for a female. There's never any discussion of whether the seat stays Up or Down, it's always Down.

***

And that, children, is why I don't have a blog. Because I think what you just wasted two minutes of your life on was funny.

-- Mal

,,, found a little YT tribute to the torpedo bombers:



-- Mal

One contains one million USD. The other, a certain oorang-utang's head on a platter. You may only choose one. Which box shall you choose?

-- Mal

I see that this past March, The Folio Society published a new edition of Neil Gaimen's American Gods, using a corrected version of the author's preferred text. Illustrated and luxuriously bound (the Folio Society produces wonderful books), and with a healthy-enough price tag of USD 120.00. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the commencement of the new TV series.

http://www.foliosociety.com/book/ACG/american-gods-neil-gaiman

-- Mal

... do you think that would stop the investigation into the Russian shenanigans? Not that it should, but as a practical matter, would the masses, the media, and the crooks and liars on the Hill all breathe a collective sigh of relief and bury the issue?

-- Mal

... one I liked and admired. I barely avoided serving in VN by virtue of being born in 1956, but he ended up doing exactly what I was expecting to do throughout most of the 60's. Sort of a case of "there but for the Grace of God..." for better and worse.

Loved that man.

-- Mal

Passing by the TV while the local (Philly) news was on, and they were doing a spot on the "so-called" March for Science.

"So-called," forsooth. Where do they get off? I bet they never refer to one of Mr Trump's shindigs as a "so-called rally."

-- Mal

-- Mal

... and wonders why she had to spend 15 minutes watching Dustin Johnson on the practice tee when other people were, like, playing. The decisions some of these directors make is odd. Yeah, it's all very important whether Dustin (or "Dustbin," as I like to call him) can play after hurting his back, but does that warrant 15 minutes watching him hit balls?

Tough Masters this year without Arnie.

-- Mal

The original recorded version of the song written by a couple of obscure songwriters named Leiber and Stoller... Number One on the R&B charts for 14 weeks in 1952. A little gem of music history.

-- Mal