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        Fuck. Men with inflamed prostates have more pressure behind their urine streams than my shower head has behind its water stream.  But I guess I’d rather lack pressure in the shower than in my piss.  I could always just take baths.  Sponge baths.  Sponge baths involving beautiful naked women.  I think that’s one thing a lot of men take for granted.  Piss pressure.  Not to be confused with Peer Pressure - Come on man, just try to piss harder.  It’ll be great. You’ll love it -  I mean it has to be embarrassing if you’re a man and you walk into a bathroom fully lined with guys that are fire-hosing piss into the urinal as if there is a million dollars in one dollar bills on fire.  Then you find your spot amongst them and try your hardest to push out a nice and steady stream, but all you come up with is something that closely resembles Chinese water torture.  Your penis being the faucet, the urinal being the victim.  In this case you are the faucet and the victim.  The victim of possible humiliation.  I say this because of course everyone is going to be listening to everyone else’s fluid deposits in the bathroom.  That is, of course, unless you’ve encountered one of the strange guys that strike up stimulating conversations with you, cock in hand.  Once, a guy asked me to help him fasten his necklace while I was pissing.  I found this to be way out of line so I had no choice but to piss all over my hands and touch his neck as much as possible while fastening his stupid ball chain hot topic necklace. 

        I probably notice this because my hair is thinning and I’ll be completely bald in 10 years.  When I noticed it happening I became obsessed with how everyone takes thick hair and a full hairline for granted.  I myself had taken it for granted.  Now, every time I see a guy, the first place I look is at his hair.  I’m either saying to myself,  You sorry ass lucky piece of shit with your full thick hair I hope it all falls out tonight  while you’re sleeping and you choke on it and die (I’m sure fat people think equally horrible thoughts about me because I’m deathly skinny), or  damn, the pool table is missing the cue ball.  Unless of course it’s a black man. Then I’m thinking damn, the pool table is missing the 8 ball.  And if that were the case then one could play a never-ending game of 8-ball. 
     
  One thing I hate more than cats (not the musical, I’m sure that’s just wonderful) is seeing a man with a sorry excuse for a comb-over.  It’s similar to watching a dog try to cover up their shit by kicking two blades of grass on it.  Those guys just need to accept their fate as an important part of billiards.  I’ve already started preparing for it by rolling around on the carpet.  I haven’t been poked ultra hard with sticks yet, though.