I am a Peeing Machine

This much was confirmed by D this weekend in Miami, where I visited every public bathroom the city had to offer.

My small bladder is by no means breaking news (neither in terms of importance nor timeliness of discovery). It's just the story of my life: For every glass of liquid I drink, I run for the bathroom at least 2 or 3 times.

And since this isn't a recent revelation, the true reason I even mention it is because it's a good segway into the fact that girls/women/ladies in Miami and surrounding areas have a habit of pissing on public toilet seats. It too confirms my credibility and expertise on the subject, lest you question the relevance of my opinion. That said, if I had to count fingers to tell you the number of toilets I had the priviledge of swiping up piss from this weekend, I would need six hands to obtain the proper figure.

I've had my fair share of run-ins with urine-laden toilet seats in NYC, but Miami? The city where the ladies' main gig - their favored gimmick and their money-swindling facade - is the projection their supposed class? Irony never fails to provide priceless comedy. And while my legs still ache from squatting over swabbed toilets, I laugh (no, guffaw) at the fact that place where I dabbed up the most yellow, was home to the city's finest; a club where men pay $550/bottle just to get close to these ill-mannered yet talented actresses.

(I am but their faithful maid)