photo by justossendorp

I’ve often thought about having a penis, and not the detachable kind, but the kind that I could feel growing inches under my pants and the kind I could hold in my hands and write with while I peed. I’ve wanted one of those kinds of penises for a while, but it’s not going to happen, not in this lifetime. After reading Vice Magazine’s hilarious “investigative report” on how it all goes down, and comes out, at the urinal, I’m actually quite happy that I don’t have to worry about my non-existent penis, and that I get to take a whiz behind closed doors.

I had no idea about the quarter game. Really? Do guys sink so low as to find out if anyone would truly stick their hand in another man’s pee to grab a quarter?

I am intrigued that some urinal owners keep their urinals filled with ice, which I only learned from this quote: “I love urinals that have ice cubes (or sometimes crushed ice) in them—something about the sound of it melting feels productive, stirs up Proustian memories of your mommy cheering you on way back when you were first learning to go.”

Plus, who teaches you the unwritten rules of urinal decorum? “If you can, you always have one empty urinal between you and someone else. You never just sidle up to a urinal next to someone unless it’s crowded and you have to.” And splash back. Splash back seems like an anxiety laden term, and a major issue for the lower half of man. It’s like they should give you one of those long bibs you get at the hair salon for use in every stall. ”Splash-back can ruin an outfit. Often the angle of the stream and the ‘convex’ nature of the urinal can cause a fine mist that will pepper the lower half of your torso.”

I’ll never look at the men’s room the same again.

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