Getting Back to My Roots

I have three dicks. Five holes in my undies. Two for legs. Three for dicks. And yes, they like to hang out like udders.

I structure my entire life around pissing outside. Grew up in the country so there were loads of opportunities to pee in the wild. Get milked by nature. If I was out on a walk or fucking off in the woods and had to pee I just went. Always hung with my boy cousins and it was never a big deal at all. You just walked a few feet away and sprayed a tree. Fertilized old beer cans in a ditch. Eventually this turned into a preference for me.

I’d be sitting in my parents’ house, feel the urge to go, and walk outside to piss behind the garage. Once my cousins and I each took turns pissing in a jar behind this same garage. But when no one was around I’d just go to the front step and pee on the bushes beside it. My parents began to notice a urine smell there and talked to me about it. Guess they knew who the mysterious pisser was (I tried to blame it on our piano, but they didn’t buy it).

I can’t help it that I think one of life’s greatest joys is to pee, and that my preference is to do it outside. Sometimes it’s just a chore or a task, but sometimes it’s pretty great. You empty yourself out, and for a minute are alone. Can reflect or just space. Feel the sun tanning your parts. Your body feels relaxed, almost as much as shooting the other thing that comes out of that part of you (blood).

As a kid I was kind of annoyed by having to shit. Wasn’t as fun as peeing. Used to fantasize about pooping every poop I’d ever take all at once so that I would never have to go again. I imagined sitting way up high in a tree branch and dropping it all below until days later it piled so high it almost reached me. Sure my asshole would burn, but after that I’d never have to go again. But I enjoy pissing. I would not want to stand at the top of a tree and drip every drop I’d ever drip. I think my quality of life would suffer if I could never pee again. Life would suck if a doctor sewed my cock shut and made me pee out my bellybutton through a tube.

This seems unsanitary, but when I pee outside I have a way where I don’t really have to touch my cob so that my hand stays clean. I put the topside of my pointer finger under myself, lift, and hold it/aim that way. I’m sure y’all folks wanted to know that. In my older years, whenever I got home at night I’d always piss on the lawn before coming inside. If someone was awake and in the living room facing the yard I’d go to the side of the house to do it. Nowadays if I’m home alone I’ll walk outside naked and piss, without holding on, as I walk backwards. Often my dogs watch. Their tails wag.

I think I became an outside pisser because of my mother. Growing up we’d be out working in her garden and she’d have to go. Instead of walking up to the house she’d venture into the woods and tell me not to look. As a kid a girl cousin of mine could pee into a toilet while standing up and she made me watch her do it once. This is how I assumed my mom did it. Though I never saw her in the act, I now, in a post Mrs. Doubtfire world, imagine her crouching half naked, ass hovering over dirt, back pressed to the moss of a tree. The slight vibration of her body during the act waking a mouse in the trunk. When she was done she wiped with leaves. I know this because I always asked her what she did to clean up. I imagine these were leaves plucked from trees, but perhaps she picked up dead ones from the ground. Come fall, people stuff pumpkin design bags with dead leaves and set them in their yard. Kids rake piles and jump in them. Little do they know, they’re rolling around in my mother’s urine.

In the winter shit got annoying. Couldn’t pee in the yard anymore because of the snow. I mean it’d be fun to melt the snow and all, but you leave too much evidence behind. I just prefer to pee outside — you can shoot it wherever and it seems relaxing to me. My mom did it this winter once while we were hiking with our dogs in a field full of snow. Hag walked through a snow drift, got into the woods, undid her snowpants (I assume, as I didn’t look), and went. Couple winters ago was driving sixteen hours to a ski resort with her and her mother. We stopped constantly so they could relieve themselves. I guess my mom has an inherited uncontrollable old lady bladder and piss hands.

Can’t ever remember an occasion where I thought I was actually going to piss myself or unable to hold it in while positioning. Actually, that’s not true. Pissed my pants once when I was in second grade. Woke up in my bed. All wet. When I went downstairs and told my mom she scolded me, saying I was too old to do that. She could see the stains in my purple shorts. I was so ashamed as she made me take them off so she could wash them in the laundry room sink. Only my shirt hung over my penis. The little piss maker.

After this I became worried about dirtying my underwear. I had seen my uncle’s once and they were yellow in the crotch. I knew that was something that would be laughed at or scolded. I couldn’t be him. For maybe a year or so after I pissed my pants I would wear the same pair of underwear for a couple weeks straight because I didn’t want to turn in my undies to her. They would get dirty and stained. When they became too itchy to wear, I would sneak down in the morning before school and stuff them deep down into the garbage. Packed inside an old cereal box where they couldn’t be found.

My mom used to accuse me (rightly) of pissing on the toilet seat. That shit was hard to aim as a kid. Maybe that’s a lot of why I started peeing outside. I’ve now developed a good system for peeing in toilets though. I wipe off the tip with toilet paper so that none dribbles out when finished. If my aim is errant I wipe the toilet rim with folded pieces of tissue. A friend of mine has a special needs cousin who puts a Cheerio in the toilet to help him aim. I love Cheerios too much to subject them to that.

Am able to hold it in for a really long time, but once I start going I’ll piss many times in the next few hours. I’ll drink water all day, then start peeing at night and not stop until the next moon cycle is complete. Just piss forever until I run clear. Stare off into space and relax as it shoots out of me for hours and hours. I could fill up your gas tank, folks. Curse you, my Gemini moon sign and hours of reading about the moon’s dwenking in the Owls of Ga’hoole series.

I hate when you’re trying to fall asleep, or just woke up but still too tired to move, and have to piss. I’ve held it in so many times under those circumstances, enduring hours of pain because I’m too lazy to get up and go. I’m in serious need of a bedpan, folks. And someone to drain it for me so that I don’t have to ever leave my bed again. If my bed were drivable, I’d spend the rest of my life on it. But I currently sleep on an itchy couch, so let me change to something more comfortable before we have Tim Taylor give that baby an engine.

Sometimes have fantasies of retiring from my bum lifestyle and moving into a nursing home so that I can be taken care of at all times. I always joke that if I become rich I’m going to pay people to do everything for me, including carrying me around and even doing simple tasks with my body such as lifting my arm, chewing my food, or gripping with my hand. The people will do all this for me: manipulating my body with their own to do the lifting, the pumping of my jaw (or feeding me as a mother bird would to her hatchlings), and the many hip-hop dance styles I hope to learn. I would never again exert a muscle for the rest of my life.

The blinding light of bathrooms in the middle of the night has kept me in bed instead of taking a piss many times. When it gets super bad I usually turn on a hallway light and leave the bathroom door open so that I’m only peeing in half light and thus can keep my eyes half closed. Otherwise your eyes just burn to much. That sting wakes you up, taking away any joy derived from the piss. At my first apartment, which was on the second floor, I peed out the window once just to try it. Also so that I wouldn’t have to step out into the light. It became a hassle trying to not get any pee in my room once the dribble started.

Once as a kid was reading Goosebumps book about dude who became invisible. I was obsessed with Goosebumps growing up (though at thirteen sold my entire collection for $30 and thought I was rich). Sometimes I’d be reading them so late into the night that I would literally have to sit up in bed and throw the book across the room to make myself stop reading. In fourth grade we had a free period and during that me and some guys formed a Goosebumps reading club. To sit in our circle you had to currently be reading a Goosebumps book. We were R.L. Stine’s thugs.

Anyway, was maybe nine or so and reading this Goosebumps about an invisible boy. Had to go pee so got up to do that. Flipped on the bathroom switch and for a moment thought I couldn’t see myself in the mirror. I had become the invisible boy from the book. It freaked me out so much. Then my handsome face came into view. I peed and got back to my reading. But I still think about the incident to this day, and bring it up as often as I can. I mean, that shit rocked. For a few seconds during my childhood I was invisible.

In high school I began peeing in town. Be out doing shit with my friends and duck behind a dumpster to take a leak. They always told me not to do that since apparently you can get a sex offender charge against you for it. Not sure if there is any truth to that or not. If so, filer me under Level 3.

Began peeing on peoples’ cars whenever we’d leave the movie theater. I worked at a gas station and would save all these empty cigarette cartons. Collected literally hundreds of them. For about a month, once a weekend I would drive down this particular residential street in Grand Forks, North Dakota with some friends and we’d litter the entire street with cig cartons. Turning a nice neighborhood into a cigarette slum in under thirty seconds.

On the same street there was a car that was always in someone’s driveway and I peed on the same car every single weekend during the carton littering. At a friend’s house I always peed on the front of this old man’s van that was out back in an alley. At my last apartment in Grand Forks I peed on my neighbor’s Pontiac Aztek’s bumper virtually every night since I always got home from school late at night and no one would be in the lot. Sometimes I’d be on the phone while doing this. I am an asshole. Nolan Devine: leaving a trail of piss and cigarettes. I am so sneaky.

On my very first real date with my very first girlfriend we were out walking, holding hands, and I stopped and pissed on a tree in front of her. It was a level of comfort I’d never felt with anyone before. My sister’s ex-boyfriend once took a shit on his parents’ lawn because he said it was getting him “back to his roots.” I guess I’m doing the same. Or at least I joke so. In Portland whenever my sister and I go out and we get home at night I toss her the keys and tell her to go on ahead since I’m going to “inspect nature.” This is code, as she knows, for me peeing outside. She always gets mad and says the neighbors will see or asks why I don’t just pee indoors.

I do pee indoors, obviously, but prefer the outdoors. It’s fun watching your piss roll down a cement hill. So many patterns form. I’ve begun believing that their shapes and designs hold future prophecies, words of advice. They tell me “Nolan, stop this. It’s weird.” Sometimes in the afternoon I’ll step out on the deck walkway thing of our apartment, look to see if anyone is around, then piss through the rails. Sometimes just for fun I dump old yogurt over that same rail.

Peeing inside just seems a hindrance. Public bathrooms are so dirty. And you have to be around others during what I only enjoy as a private moment. I always feel most comfortable using my own. Though sometimes you come across a pretty sweet public toilet:

This toilet rocks.
I would seriously move into this bathroom.
Every good scuzzhole bathroom needs a dispenser that sells expired condoms.

This video kind of sucks. I shot it at a bar bathroom in Olympia, Washington. I need to do some bathroom graffiti. I have a good video idea involving cereal and toilets that I might make someday:

I never touch public bathroom door handles. Always stick my hand in my shirt and open them that way. Yuck. I’ve been in way too many pube covered Montana highway rest stops that smell like manure to trust public toilets. The proliferation and public dissemination of hand sanitizer is one of the best things to happen in years. Almost always have a bottle of it in my car. I like to squirt it on my hands, rub together, then slap them hard to let the alcohol sting my skin. I can be weird about bathroom germs. I know it.

My dog Xouirteeee is easily frightened and has pissed all over me and my car several times before when I have picked her up. Years ago I was hanging at a beach in South Carolina and felt something warm on my leg. Turns out it was my nephew pissing on me. I guess that could be why I like hand san so much these days. That same nephew is now nine and likes to beat me up.

My parents grew up using outhouses (though not their entire childhoods), so perhaps I shouldn’t complain and be such a wuss about public bathrooms, hand sanitizer, and getting soaked in animal piss. I believe there is a certain purifcation and relaxing element to peeing outside, so maybe my folks had it better than I think. Though of course I know that’s not true. I had to use a bunch of porta-potties at Bonnaroo last year. They were filthy and degrading. And my parents had to go in the dark. Dropping it all down into a hole in the ground. Feeding the worms and their younger outcast siblings (who, by all accounts, were sewer mutants). Whenever I see porta-potties I take pictures of them. I’m totally fascinated. I even wrote a poem:

Porta-potty.
Innocuity incarnate?
Twenty five strangers shit
in upright plastic coffin
and all forget to flush.

Too much beauty. I want to be buried in one.

My parents grew up in a world of poverty. They had to piss in a wooden shack and work their asses off growing up. They have yet to stop. They work so hard to have a good life and support us kids. They put me through college where I got my English degree. Instead of putting it to use, I repay them by not having had a job for three years and writing poems about toilets for the internet to read.

I think about my future and where I’ll end up. Sometimes see myself becoming a hobo because of my chronic laziness. My mom will have a legitimate reason to be ashamed of her son. If you read my dirt hole blogs, you know I had to shit under a tree once. I never want to poop outside again but suppose I will once I’ve burned through every friendship and person who trusts me. Once they realize I’ll never help myself, I’ll be abandoned and become a bum. Forced to get back to my roots. Clipping my toenails into gas station urinals. Pissing and shitting outside. Scraping feces from my ass and smearing it into cement. Looking for the future prophecies. Wishing hard I could become invisible again, if only for a few seconds more. Only to realize I already have been for a long time.

I’ve yet to be busted while urinating outside. Always try to hide myself as best I can. The unseen Sneaky Nolan. Would be so fucking embarrassed if I did get caught though. I always think it’s funny when you’re at a urinal and see someone who drops their fucking pants all the way to piss. Just letting their ass hang out. No shame. I guess it’s normally young boys that do that.

Last time I was at Grand Central Terminal got off my train and went right to the packed bathroom. First thing I saw in there was a dad holding his bottomless son over a urinal as the kid pissed into it. Was disturbing and funny how this boy just hovered there while shooting it against the wall. He didn’t have to give a shit about everyone taking notice. Dude has his whole life in front of him to worry about bigger embarrassments. For now he is all potential and joy. For now he is way badass.

I was a cute kid once. Was loved so hard. Didn’t have to be sneaky to have fun. It was a time when my biggest worries came from turning invisible to take a pee. Hidden away, but still ready to come back at the world when I finished. Nowadays when I piss, I often just crawl back to the couch and bundle up. Invisibility is only cool if you still let others see you every now and again. I guess in thinking about it I do actually have a goal for my future: I too want to float while I piss.

Your Pissing Narrator, GABFRAB:

Gabfrab is a bathroom drinker. I know him. He drinks and samples bowl contents after his and others' eliminations.

P.S. Sorry for not updating sooner than this. I wish I had a valid excuse, but really I’ve just been watching documentaries and exploring Portland. I move from here in a week. I’m going to miss pissing over the rail, dumping yogurt onto the ground.

Cheers, folks.

4 thoughts on “Getting Back to My Roots

  1. Never before have I heard the simple act of taking a piss described with such….eloquence. Haha!

    I can completely relate to your preferance with pissing outside – I, too, spent a joyus childhood of pissing on wooden fences and fire ant nests. The latter is extremely satisfying…the little deamons drowned in a flood of my fluid. And later, returned to bite me 4,000 times on my way to go play on the tire swing. My little sister was always jealous of us boys, who could whip it out at any moment and soak the object of our displeasure. Not having a penis didn’t stop her, however; She would whip up her skirt and just let it all out. Needless to say, she’s never been into Barbie Dolls or makeup.

    I’m also glad to hear others hold it for hours because they’re too lazy to get up and let it out. Even when I’m squatting under some bridge, I just lay there because I’m too lazy to move two feet to let it out all over some empty cardboard boxes. I sometimes lie there, curled up in my sleeping bag with my cardboard mattress, picturing some device I would invent that would allow you to pee while still in bed. I figure I’ll make it out of a hefty condom and fish tank tubing.

    Outhouses are nasty, especially when you have to shit. Some of the ones in Peru are just a hole in the ground, with two little spots for your feet that look like shoeprints, in case you try to shit with your feet in some non-Peruvian Outhouse Association Approved position. Here’s an image of that for laughs:

    http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150105255215517.390075.883880516

    That, FYI, was the bathroom for a rather expensive resturaunt.

    Once, when I was in Bolivia, I had some serious constipation. The doctor gave me this awful fluid to give myself an emema with; horrible experience. After violating myself, I had to make about fifteen trips to the outhouse to spew PLS (Pure Liquid Shit) all over the happy colonies of maggots and E.coli below.

    Pissing outside is pretty acceptable in Latin America; if it’s past nine or ten at night, where the hell else are you supposed to go? Also, many places charge you to use their toilets, so the general population usually just pisses on the streets and saves their 2 Bolivianos for when they have to go blow up the toilet of the papaya vender. To his credit, he will supply you with three squares of 2-ply toilet paper for your gracious donation.

    Piss on, Gabfrab…

    -MN

    Like

    1. I hadn’t heard of Spooksville until you mentioned it but it sounds good. I was really into Goosebumps for a long time. I sold my collection when I was about fourteen for $30, thinking that was a lot of money. I’ve spent the past couple years picking up Goosebumps books whenever I find a used copy at a store. I’ve re-read some and they don’t quite hold up haha.

      Like

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