Drinking Piss and the Human Response

Let me ask you something, have you ever drank piss?

No? … of course not, I mean why would you?

Let’s go back to my TCNJ student residence in 2002, the ruinous Centennial Hall. This building was in such a state of disrepair as to be unworthy of rapists and pedophiles. Naturally it was a good fit for the unfortunate souls destined to occupy its asbestos laden berths.

Fortunately a couple of friends of mine from Freshman year (who will remain nameless under the necessary conditions as stated in the Babeled Anonymity Act) suffered the same merciless fate. These two poor souls from Rutherford, New Jersey, were thrown into lock-down with myself, Jason Morgan, and the soon-to-be kicked out of his house for eating his mother’s salad, Gregory Rineberg.

The Rutherfordians were strategically positioned halfway down the hall. It was well situated for scouting out the unwanted presence of higher authorities while microwaved citrus fruit was being thrown against the rotting walls. Not to mention their room was closer to the exits, and ultimately closer to escape from what was a real life pit of despair.

But enough with the setup and on with the embarrassment. Everyday, for about two weeks straight I would bust into the Rutherfordian’s domicile and announce my entrance with a, “F*cking Moose” call. I would proceed to take a cup-less swig out of their gallon of apple juice. You know the kind with the plastic handle attached to the lid that allows you to hold it from above. Keep in mind this was college, and I had the requisite absence of hygiene, manners, and respect for personal property. Due to the proximity of their fridge in relation to the door it was all too easy to barge in and help myself to some wholesome apple juice. So basically I just washed, rinsed, and repeated this process tirelessly for about eleven days… until one day.

Revenge is a drink best served cold

And one day it happened, and oh how the mighty had fallen. Instead of my predictably obnoxious Krameresque entrance, I threw a change up and sauntered into the room. I opened up that fridge, grabbed the apple juice and belted out a “F*cking Moose”. And then it happened – PISS. Ice cold piss. Now I’m not talking just a little bit on the tip of my tongue either. This was a full gulp. It all happened in slow motion you see, and as the ammonia based liquid made its way down, the two nameless souls turned from their computers only to lock eyes with me in absolute shock and awe. What proceeded was a drawn out NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOO….. in unison. And at that precise moment it hit me. I was chugging piss.

What came next was an epic expulsion, Krakatoa times two. I sprayed that garbage with impunity as I spattered the room. After this barbaric turn of events all that was left to do, aside from hang my head in shame, was to head to the bathroom where I proceeded to brush my teeth for about 90 minutes – and that is not an exaggeration. Believe me when I say that I could taste the error of my ways for weeks to come, and even now, six years later I am getting sick just thinking about it.

This personal atrocity has been brought to you by the letter P and the number Zero.