Squat No More.


Ladies.  Are you like me?  Every time you enter a urine-rich environment, do you wonder how glorious it would be to never sit while voiding, again?  Do you cry, “WHY, GOD!?  Why must I bend both knee and hip!?  Why has thou forsaken me!?”

Well, ladies…argue with the heavens, no more.

A company, aptly named, “Lady Elegance” has has come to our rescue, and…it’s even on sale.  Yes, you heard me correctly, not only will you be able to pee, standing alongside your man, almost like an equal, but you will be able to do it on the cheap.

May I present…the Lady Urinal.


Ladies…potential snow writers…friends…please, don’t waste another moment.  Log in to Groupon immediately and join the other 1,000 plus women who have snatched up this opportunity.  We only have five days before this offer ends.  Just THINK of what we, as a gender, can do to improve the handwriting in snow banks across this great nation, once the urine-playing-field is even.  Today it’s the urinal…tomorrow…maybe even the Presidency.

I want names.  Over a thousand of them.

I want names. Over a thousand of them.

The deal, folks…is on.

I Need To Stop Writing About Toileting Issues (and, shut up, spell check, it is to spelled that way! wait…to or too? nothing looks right…awww fuck it)



One of my largest conflicts in parenthood, has been in toeing that thick, fat line that lies between hovering over my children like some sort of demented helicopter, and flinging those little suckers out of the nest, while screaming, “Fly, you little bastards, fly!” Sometimes, I walk the line artfully…but, usually, it’s more drunken sailor than Wallenda Brother.

One of the areas in which I have struggled the most, was in letting them use public restrooms alone. Try as I might, I cannot get past the idea that, behind every men’s room door, lies a mustachioed creeper, just waiting to offer my sons candy, but on the flip side, my sons were definitely heading into their own gray area, where they were leaving the “Oh, aren’t they cute,” stage, and rapidly heading into “Why are those man-children in the women’s lavatory?”.

By the time they were eight, my resolve on the issue vacillated, depending on the sketchiness of the bathroom in question. Nice restaurant…no problem! Inner-city Costco…no fucking way on this Earth. Finally, there came a day in which my sons hit a tipping point, where they were no longer Ladies’ Lounge appropriate.

Liam: “Mooooom, the machine took my penny!”
Me (washing my hands): “What machine?”
Liam: “The one that sells tampons. And I didn’t get a tampon, and it took my penny! What IS a tampon anyway?”

“Fly, you little bastards, fly!”

Crotch Candy…because it’s 8 whole months until Valentine’s Day.


I come to you, Ladies and Gentlemen, with a rare conundrum.  It isn’t often that two things that I greatly enjoy, come together in such a way, that the resulting offspring of the union is wholly unholy.  But today…someone has managed to offend both my love of candy and my deep abiding fondness for male genitalia.  (see below)


Just as I am sure that there is no such thing as a “posing pouch”, (Oh, shit, there is.) I am about 90% positive, and maybe I’m being hopeful here, that this product was never made to see the light of day.  I am assuming, and please, God, let me be correct, that this was created strictly as a novelty gift that would elicit a quick “HA!” before being shoved in a drawer, until such time as it was finally thrown away or re-gifted.

Let us analyze from both sides, shall we?

Speaking on behalf of women, I will say that never has any woman lamented that the thing that candy was lacking…was pubic hair.  If she wants to be in that area…she doesn’t need candy to persuade her.  Conversely, any woman who needs convincing to put her mouth anywhere NEAR your junk, isn’t going to be lured in with anything less than a box of Godiva and a guilt trip.

Lads, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that, for the most part, you’re not down with this product either.  I somehow doubt that you’re fantasizing about displaying your manhood in a bunch of pastel sugar beads that remind your romantic partners of baby showers and Easter egg hunts (hang on a minute…there might be some valid arguments there, on both accounts).  Furthermore, I cannot imagine that any man, when considering a head in his nether-areas, wants the barrier between his tenderbits and a mouth, to be something that needs to be firmly bitten off.  Again, I’m making assumptions, but if I had a dick…I’d have a no biting policy.  A strict one.