I find
these in offices and other public places. I cherish the risk of being
found excreting in these urns - the potential social condemnation, the
forced commitment to a madhouse.
But why? What causes this fluidal exhibitionism?
The exposure of my member is important. The wafting chill upon my
foreskin. It is primordially erotic, a relic of my childhood. We pee
like that when we are toddlers: the organ bare, observed by all and
sundry, the source of foaming falls.
It's an important point, this nippy air of infancy.
Equally, there is the delicious hazard of being spotted by a beautiful
woman or by the authorities (a policeman, a warden, when I was in jail).
Yet, the wished for outcomes of this recklessness are by no means
ascertained.
Consider the authorities.
This act is so in breach of my much-cultivated image as European
intellectual - that I anticipate being thoroughly ignored, in an
attempt to avoid the realisation that they've been cheated (or were
they simply too obtuse to notice my blatant preference for herbal
floods?)
Even more inauspicious:
They may be coerced into conceding that not everyone can safely be
defined or subjected to immutable classification. This forced admission
would undermine the pillars of their social order.
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