7:32 p.m. - 2003-03-06
Of Urine and Men
Maybe part of my problem is that I never make plans. I just do things.
Like go to Hollywood for the weekend to drink and fall asleep somewhere.
Reserve a hotel room? No...
Motel room? No...
Find out where exactly you're going or what you're going to do when you get there? No...
Make arrangements to stay at somebody's house up there? No....
Bring a change of clothes, or deodorant, or a pillow, or a blanket, or a toothbrush or anything that most people might need? No....
I just drive....
Whatever happens, happens.
Maybe part of my problem.
Anyways, when all else fails, my car can serve as a bed. And my car can always get me home, if I'm ever in trouble. As long as I have my car, then nothing can be too bad...
So, I drove up to Tinseltown with a friend of mine last Saturday afternoon, and we ended up cruising the Sunset Strip later that night. Originally, our plan was to drink at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go....The Doors used to perform there.
The Doors used to drink there.
Good enough for me.
But, instead we decided to drink at some place called The Roxy. I parked in some parking garage across from The Viper Room, where River Phoenix died.
Johnny Depp owns the Viper Room...If I had seen him that night, I probably could've talked him into valeting my car for me.
"Here's my keys. Go park my car someplace nice, Johnny Boy. Take it easy on the bumps."
Me and him go way back. But, I, uh...I lost his phone number.
I was a little concerned parking my car in a parking garage across the street from The Viper Room, since I was certain that River Phoenix's ghost still haunts the area, wandering the Sunset Strip and snorting coke in the afterlife.
Anyways, I drank much whiskey, insults directed toward women were heard coming out of my mouth, public urination took place, drunken Hollywood wandering ensued...until it was 4:00 a.m., and time to go nighty-night in my car....
Pefrect plan: Walk back to the car, recline the seats and sleep in the quiet stillness of the deserted parking garage, wake up on Sunday morning and drive home.
Later, I remember thinking something like this: "Hmmm, who the hell stole the parking garage where I parked? Some prankster stole the parking garage with my car inside, and replaced it with a closed-up, gated-shut parking garage."
Silly Hollywood pranksters.
Yes, the parking garage was closed until Monday.
Monday?!
A giant iron gate was making sure of it. Peering through the iron gate, I saw my car inside. Like a caged bird.
My car was serving time in the hoosegow for a crime it didn't commit. Like The Shawshank Redemption. But with my car.
It was jailbreak time.
A giant metal rod found behind The Roxy would do the trick, or so I thought....Wedging the metallic rod in the gate and prying the gate open will set my car free, I thought.
It didn't.
And so it was that at 4:00 a.m. on the Sunset Strip, across the street from where River Phoenix died, with my car still trapped inside, I set off the burglar alarm of a Hollywood parking garage...
Whoopsy!
To make a long story short, I hid in an alley across the street until I was certain the coast was clear, began urinating on the sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard, and right when the urine was halfway done coming out of my penis, a good portion of the Hollywood Police Department arrived on the scene.
I ducked to hide myself in the alley. And found myself laying in my own pee-pee.
Duck and cover...Cover myelf in urine, I mean.
I split the scene, dripping with urine, and found a nice, cozy, freezing rooftop to sleep on a few blocks away on Santa Monica Blvd. I lay there with my teeth chattering all night. The urine scent wafted into my nostrils all night long. I started singing Sheryl Crow songs to myself: "All I wanna do is sleep in my own urine...until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard."
It was fitting.
Next morning, still stained with human excrement, a janitor at the parking garage opened up the gate for me, and let me release my car.
It occurred to me how great of a security policy this parking garage has: Mexican janitors have the keys to the parking garage....and at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, they'll willingly let urine-scented drunks who wander out of a dark alley have free access to the cars parked inside.
Maybe if you're a urine-scented drunk, you can get other special benefits, as well. Out of pity.
Like being soaked in my own urine is the key to opening locked doors.
Almost like my bladder is the locksmith, and it sends keys out through my penis....
Maybe my urine is magic.
If I piss on myself more often, who knows what other benefits I might receive. I could get free food maybe. Free taxi rides perhaps...
Maybe even free admission to Disneyland!
I'm gonna try it out. I'm drunk all the time.
And it's not hard to urinate on myself. I'll aim my penis upwards as I urinate, so that it gets on my face too.
Hooray!
Yeah, so if you're reading this and you're ever locked out of your house or something, or if you lock your keys in the car, something like that, feel free to e-mail me or give me a call...
I'd be more than willing to drive over there and piss all over you.
I do what I can to help.
