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We'd finished all our fruit punch. And, there wasn't anything else for the six thirsty campers at my table to drink. I thought about walking all the way to the kitchen to get some water or something, but decided to check the neighboring tables first. We tend to scan nearby tables for things we need before trekking across the long, thin dining hall to forage through the kitchen. I spotted a pitcher of water at the next table over, so I borrowed it to fill my cup.

I took a sip. The water was hot. I frowned. Patrick, the counselor at that table, started to laugh out loud at his little joke. It wasn't intended for me, the joke, that is. I'm sure he wanted to annoy his campers by bringing them hot water instead of cold. But, he happened to annoy me, too. I'd really looked forward to a cool, refreshing splash of hydrogen and oxygen molecules doing the bump and grind in the Sahara desert of my mouth. But, instead I got a violent, angry volcano heat–wave of stupidness.

But, I noticed something about the water as it slid down my esophagus. It was nearly 100 F—just about body temperature. I got to thinking, as I stood there, grimacing about my disappointing beverage experience: What if I used this hot water for something it was actually good for? I had a plan.

I shouted to the nearby tables, "Hey, if I jam my hand into this pitcher of hot water, will it make me pee my pants?" A wave of giggles washed over the room. An impish grin broke across my face as I plunged my right fist into the splishy–splashy magma wetness. I stood, waiting.

Nothing. No urine magically poured forth from my eager urethra. Not even a drop.

One camper yelled out, "I think it only works if you're sleeping!"

Mohammed shitballs! They sure as hell don't teach you that in college, do they? Note to self: Hand in water without sleeping does not equal involuntary, public piss fountain. (I guess I better carry sleeping pills with me at all times from now on, just in case I try this one again.)

I put on a look of melodramatic disappointment—silent movie style. Oh, but who knows better than a camp counselor how to turn a frown upside down!

"I know," I nodded and smiled at 25 campers who were really trying to sit and quietly enjoy grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, "maybe I can just pour this pitcher of water into my pants and simulate peeing?"

I pulled the front of my pants away from my pelvis with one hand and tilted the pitcher towards my furry belly with the other. I started with a few drops, just to test the water, so to speak. But, the wet spot wasn't dramatic or realistic enough. So, I gave it another go and really poured it out in my pants.

The crowd went wild. If only the Romans knew this they would've been able to fill the Coliseum with people pretending to pee themselves instead of letting folks get devoured by lions or bludgeoned to death with clubs or whatever they used to watch for kicks.

The dark, wet spot went all the way down to my left knee. It perfectly simulated the way it looks when one pisses one's jeans—so long as that person's penis happened to be hanging down the left leg of their pants.

[I should know, since I've pissed myself numerous times. Not on accident, though—on purpose. Pissing your pants on accident is uninteresting at best and pathetic at worst. Pissing your pants deliberately, however, is basically an instant laugh riot—just add urine. Day or night, winter, spring summer or fall, all alone or with friends or family: Have no doubt, urinating in your clothes on purpose is funny. Why? Because things that come out of your urethra are funny. (Note that this is not limited to only urine. Pus, blood, and discharge also occasionally flow from the urethra. And, are those things funny. Why, yes, they sure as hell are!)]

Andy, one of the funniest counselors to walk the planet, pointed at my high–humidity crotch area and shouted, "Look! You have clearly pissed in your pants, Justin! I see the stain of the urine! SO MUCH URINE! LOOK! SO MUCH URINE! Haha! It is funny because there is urine in your pants!"

I thought it was a little funny. But, I really wished I could've peed in my pants for real. Hot, unfiltered tap water from a pitcher just doesn't deliver the same glorious shock value that hot, kidney–filtered waste water from my penis does. Nobody will vomit, cry, break up with you, run screaming, or fire you from your job because you pour water in your pants. But, try pissing your pants on purpose some time. It sure gets people all up in arms pretty quickly!

And, the laughter—it's a nonstop comedy riot! Actually, I've found the only person that actually thinks this is me. But, hell, I sure laugh a lot—there's definitely enough of Justin Winokur's laughter to make up for all the people who are busy vomiting, crying, and telling their friends that I am a bad person and that they will never, ever make out with me in a million years. And, all because of a little urine in the pantaloons. Crybabies.

But, the thing is that I really like my job at the summer camp. And, there are counselors there that I wouldn't mind making out with in the next million years or so if I got the chance. So, I guess that until the hot, wet, yellow–orange day when I run the institutions and bladders of this country, I'll have to settle for fake urine. But, it's not a bad lot at all. I get to keep my job at the summer camp. And, who knows, at this rate I might even get to make out with someone in the next million years or so!