Shit

I'm starting to get pretty sure that I shat on God's pint or spilled his girlfriend in a previous life.

> I'm taking a leak in the urinal at work. It's just before lunch.
> I hear an unusual clicking/rattling noise*.
> Concerned for the safety of Little Peter, my most prized possession, I look down.
> A button has fallen off my boxers into the urinal.
> It is caught in the plastic filter thing. 1-0 to God.
> It won't wash down, no matter how hard I try.
(And I nearly blew out my temple-veins, I was fighting so hard to avoid the inevitable).
> Ok, I have to go fishing. Let's do this before someone walks in.
> I think to finish off the flow first. 1-1 to Peter.
> I know you've wondered before. Porcelain is cold, even mere seconds into the post-piss phase.
> I remember to wash my hands. Yes, even the left one. 2-1 to Peter.
> I forget to fasten flies. For a few hours. I guess we'll call that a draw.

So how does it feel to be a marionette for an angry God? Not that bad, actually. Although I'd expected a lot more paedo-bumsex based on observations of my peers.

*Not that there are any usual clicking/rattling noises when I'm pissing, ladies.