HOOK’S NOTE: I realize many of you are currently engaged in battle with hundreds of shoppers for a ten-dollar mixer, but here’s a lightweight post for when you come up for air.
As a middle-aged nerd who is apparently doomed to never gain super powers of any sort, I spend a lot of time pondering my mortality.
And trust me, middle age is a wild ride, kiddies; muscles you never even realized you had, or for that matter, wanted, begin to rebel, hairlines recede and wither much like Bruce Jenner’s manhood, and your bladder? Well, your bladder decides it’s worked hard enough and so it decides to retire – whether you agree or not.
As a wee lad I could consume hundreds of litres of Coke at the movies before having to answer the call of nature.
Yeah, I know, but in my defense, I wasn’t athletic or a girl-killer of any sort, so I have to take my past victories where I find ’em, all right?
My personal record was established during a Star Wars triple-bill at the Lincoln Theatre in St. Catharines on a cold winter afternoon. I began chugging large plastic containers of pop (this was before you had to take out a second mortgage just to qualify to stand in line at the concessions stand), when John Williams’ score brought a hush over the assembled legion of rugrats, continued to slurp away while Vader blew Luke’s mind in The Empire Strikes Back, and I didn’t come up for air – so to speak – until Han Solo realized Luke and Leia had committed incest.
Of course, my personal best really isn’t that impressive; my buddy Jimmy once went an entire year without urinating.
It was the only thing anyone could talk about at his funeral.
But the days of walking around with a water cooler’s worth of soda in my bladder for hours are long gone, kids. Now that I’m in my forties I envy anyone that can make it through the night – or even an hour – without having to pee.
And another thing… I… never mind, nature calls…
See you in the lobby, kids…