As August rolls around and we begin to settle into our new classes and new positions in college many of us have different battles that we will be waging. For some of us we will be waging battles against the parking guards at USC, pissing them off with every last minute attempt to get a spot on the street less than five minutes away from your class. For others, we will be waging wars against wet clothing from the horrible, horrible swamp ass that threatens every clean pair of shorts we put on our body. For me? I have the most difficult battle of all. Where to piss comfortably on campus.
Some people may read what I just wrote and say “surely not. Surely the editor can’t really be worried about where they will use the bathroom on campus.“ but I surely am incredibly worried about where I will be using the bathroom on campus.
You see, this choice is the difference between the sun rising in a cloudless sky and setting with a multitude of colors cast upon a brilliant canvas just above our heads for us to gaze upon and wonder what tomorrow will bring. This choice is the difference between hitting every red light in a two block radius from Darla Moore school of business to close hip and being late for your Rush event that you tried so hard to make it on time too, including skipping class, or getting an extra roll with the dinner your sorority allowed you to eat without weighing yourself first (score!).
Weak minded sigma males may think that peeing on campus is a necessity. They are weak minded for a reason. Pissing on campus is simply a privilege.
Pissing in Calcott is for real rough and tumble citizens who typically live either off-campus or in green quad, unafraid of dirt and fans of the color green.
Wizzing in Jones is for the girls who like the blue as a child because pink was too girly, who seek their fathers approval even though they will never get it because they will never be good at computer science, and the boys who got lost on their way to Darla Moore.
Going pee pee in Russell House is for the wanderer. The student who knew better than to chance it going all the way back to their dorm but was unafraid of the trials and tribulations that would come from the germs on the public and frequently used the toilet seat.
Tinkling in science and technology is for the cryers. For the under appreciated honors student questioning their entire future plan because they didn’t get an A on their first advanced organic chemistry test.
Frying the chicken in the Darla Moore school of business is for the man’s man. For the people who open doors for others only to walk through them first, the suit-on-Tuesday finance majors, the high school bully who lists for a big tiddy goth girlfriend, the non-business major meltdown cases who feel purposeless unless doing their psychology homework under Darla’s colorful flags.
But the bravest, most comfortable place of all to answer nature’s call is nature itself: in your pants. Let the golden shower flow down your leg and succumb to the urges that sing to you from the dawn of your ancestors. Pee your pants. Just do it.