Taking The Piss

June 29, 2008 – 12:44 pm

Posted by CTK

I saw another mattress propped against a fence today…
I’ll get to the significance of that soon, but first take the survey below:

1.) Are you a fucking bitch?
2.) Do you have a maturity deficit?
3.) Are you a stupid asshole?
4.) Do you have an addiction to irrationality?
5.) Are you a manipulative c*nt?

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you answered YES to ANY of the above, then PLEASE, I BEG YOU, do NOT have children! Please do not procreate! Don’t adopt EITHER! Live your life sealed in a condom! Please.

Okay, with our prescreening out of the way, let me tell you about the pee mattress…

The mattress full of piss. Or rather the “alleged” urine-soaked bed.

A while back when I was trying to find a new apartment, I knew a dude who managed a building so he let me crash cheaply for a month in one of his vacancies…

It was an ugly row of crappy spaces mostly inhabited by slackers, like me. My unit sat directly across from a very nice cottage house. In the cottage lived a work-at-home successful screenwriter husband and his wife, a grade school art teacher. They had three kids.

Unluckily for me, one of the kids, their 11 year-old son, liked me and liked me a bit too much! Beautiful little guy, named David, amazingly sweet and full of energy. Their other two boys were teenagers, both super sheepish, insecure lads who seemed to walk the earth in fear of a random baseball falling from the sky at any moment. I didn’t get to know them at all.

I’d be sitting out on my cramped porch, circling apartment rentals in the newspaper, and Little David would find any old excuse to come hanging around my piece of the sidewalk, whistling goofy tunes near my fence. I knew his mother didn’t approve of me, for whatever the reason, because she’d snap at him whenever she found him near me. Little David gave me a cookie one day. All hell broke loose when Mama saw me nibbling one of her homemade cookies. This lady was a real piece of work. And even though she knew I was only living there short-term and would soon leave, the day after The Cookie Incident I awoke to find a tiny mattress propped up against my fence.

A naked mattress with various colored staining in the middle of it. The stain faced my side of the yard. The urine appeared to be snarling at me.

That was the first day I didn’t see Little David except for a glimpse of him in the window, partially hidden behind the living room curtain, looking at me with wide, misty eyes full of shame. His mother strolled outside gripping a broom and began pummeling the mattress just as you’d hit a dusty rug. Then with no prompting from me, she said in a bellowing voice for all the world to hear, “David pissed his bed again!”

She wielded her mighty broom, attacking the mattress like a Policeman batons a Convict. She was beating the bed so hard I wondered if it’d split open forcing the cotton guts to spill…

She sniped, “DAVID is a real bedwetter! We don’t know when he’ll learn to stop WETTING THE BED!”

I could see Little David cowering in the window. I felt so bad for him, it was truly crushing for me to witness this kind of verbal and theatrical abuse. I came to his defense and told her, told the monster, told her loudly that,

“ME TOO! I WET MY BED FOR A LONG TIME TOO!”

Did I really pee? Was I really a long-term bedwetter in reality? Frankly, I don’t remember. Maybe I was, but since my mother and father never planned a soul-crushing stunt to OUT my bodily fluids to the world, or concoct a Pee Pee Intervention, well, I don’t recall how long I pissed the bed.

I always felt that I saw David smile when I claimed to be a fellow pisser. I can’t be sure. I am absolutely certain though that my admission really steamed his mother because she quit beating the mattress, ended the “discussion” and stormed off.

Her other two boys were already a mess of mangled nerves and clearly David was soon to join them. People often wonder why so many “kids today” turn out to be butt tarded sacks of suck. Their parents are SHIT, that’s why. The father could have stopped the madness… Where the fuck was he? He was inside the house probably writing scripts about “Happy Families”…writing fantasy, I guess. He did nothing to stop her tyranny, so in essence Daddy is as much to blame as Mommy Dearest.

 

This is a STIGMA that children could carry around with them their entire lives! FOR EVER! Since I am more optimistic than cynical, I’d love to believe Little David is growing successfully into Big David and has forgotten all about his parents’ random injustice, but cynicism wins each and every time I spot another mattress propped against a fence. And lately I see far too many of them.