Recently I became a member of an elite fraternity…of sorts. I am talking about an organization that most or some of you actually belong to, but will most likely never admit to having a membership card. Unless you are a member, you have not likely heard of this secret society. This club is steeped in tradition and its members pride themselves on the secrets that lie within the order.
You may be thinking that I am referring to the Freemasons, Shriners, or a college fraternity. Or maybe you are assuming that I am a Parrothead, Deadhead, or perhaps even a pothead. Of course, you would be wrong. While the afore-mentioned clubs share many similarities to my new fraternity, they are very different in nature. Most of these other clubs will accept new membership at any given time. My club can be impossible for some to gain membership. I have attained membership. You are in luck because I am going pull back the shroud of secrecy this one and only time and reveal to you…The Club.
Gaining membership to The Club can be simple for some, while others will strive their entire lives and never make it. Actually, it has taken me 35 long years to earn my admittance. I know some brethren that were initiated very early in their lives , and others that are still trying to get in. The Club is open to any and all. In fact, the official motto of The Club is “Six to sixty. Blind, Crippled, or Crazy.” Many of you may recognize this motto as it has been leaked into mainstream vernacular in recent years. This is an indicator of The Club’s influence on today’s society, which continues to grow. As a member of “society”, you may be asking, “How do I gain access to such an influential yet so secretive organization?”. Well I am going to share with you the story of my initiation, which should provide the answers to many of your questions.
My Initiation Into Greatness
A friend and I were nurturing our alcoholships for the better part the night recently when my path took a fortunate turn toward the golden entry portal of The Club. However, I did not feel like I had done near enough to earn my official membership card…I was ever so wrong.
My codependent friend had long since been gone and I was in bed and well into a very enjoyable dream. In my dream I was back camping in the wilderness. This dream was one of those dreams that you could swear was real. The fire was crackling and warm. The air was crisp, but not too cold. I was sitting there in my camp chair when I received the call of the wild. Man, oh man there is nothing better than being a man out in the woods and having the urge to urinate. In the wilderness a man can simply whip it out and fire away without a care in the world. It was at this exact moment of extreme enjoyment in my dream that I was awakened by the sounds of my wife yelling.
It turns out that call of the wild that I had heard in my dream was real. Many other details that I was dreaming were real as well. I had whipped it out. I had started to fire away. Most men’s wives do not shout at them when they are urinating…in the toilet. My problem was that I was not urinating in the wild like in my awesome dream. I also was not urinating in the toilet…I was not even close. In fact, I was urinating on our bedroom floor…
“What’s that noise? It sounds like water is running. Did you spill something?” the wife yells. My stream immediately halts. I am now in pain, but somehow I am able to pull myself together and lie to her like the pro that I am. I simply told her to go back to sleep and that I was just up going to the bathroom. (Every good lie is 90% truth!). I did go finish my business in the bathroom like a normal adult if that saves me any face here.
So the next morning I lay in bed trying to shake the fog of a light hangover. As I attempt to drag myself out of bed I see the wife and she casually says, ” Why is the floor all wet?” All of the sudden it was like someone must feel coming out of a coma or an amnesiac regaining memory. BAM! I had vivid memory of standing at the foot of our bed and urinating on the floor in a half-sleep state and waking my wife up in the process. Oh my God! Did I really do that? I get up and inspect the floor. Sure enough, there is a small wet spot in the carpet. It was at this point that I had to come clean and tell my wife what I had done…
What I had done was earn my life-long membership into The Club! Yes, the exclusive club of the drunken idiot that urinates somewhere in the house other than the toilet (or sink)! I am truly honored. Although, as I fired up the steam cleaner I couldn’t help but think that membership to The Club doesn’t have many privileges.