By Semi-Popular Demand: How An Alien Fetus Done Flew Out My Coochie

I've never been a ginormous fan of scary movies. They make me tense. All jittery. And I'm tense enough on a day-to-day basis that there's really NO NEED to augment that by watching uneducational scary movies with creepy music and aliens. Especially aliens. No me gusto el Creepy Aliens.

But, alas, I have many a friend that find the thrill of the Scary Movie Genre very exciting and thrilling and oh-so-very entertaining. Naturally, these friends also enjoy the Creepy Alien movies. Naturally, naturally. And so on occasion, I am forced to watch the creepy, the sadistic and the alien-having movies that I normally avoid like a bad case of herpes.

Such was the case my freshman year at college.

My roommate, Ruby, was a member of the off-beat crowd. The crowd that indulges in displays of punkish hair color, black eyeliner and what can sometimes be truly unattractive clothing. Thanks to genetics (or no thanks, however you'd like to look at it) I resembled more of a country club breed than a punk rock breed. I had smooth, undyed hair. Minimal makeup. And lots of dress pants that I chose over the traditional blue jeans and track pants favored by college students the world over. The amusing part of this living arrangement was that I was considered the oddball, the freak, the "are you SURE that child isn't medicated?" kind of roommate. Due in part to my then-lack of inner-monologue. And a tendency to get whacked out on NyQuil. Which I only took twice when I was sick. Much to my later embarrassment. But I digress.

I found all this very amusing, of course. As did Ruby.

So it was one Saturday afternoon where I was presented with yet another opportunity to make a total and complete (and unintentional) F R E A K of myself.

We'd been watching one of the Alien movies. The ones with Sigourney Weaver. One of the forty Alien movies out there. The Birth of Alien. The Learning of Alien. Alien: The Teenage Years.

Whatever.

The movie (played on VHS, naturally, because poor college students did not have money for DVD players 8 years ago) had creeped it's creepy little way into every pore in my body and even though the sun was shining through our giant windows on that Saturday afternoon, I was truly terrified of going to the bathroom alone. But the teeney size of my chickpea bladder negated any more time spent curled into a ball on my bed, crushing the pillow to my chest and biting the frilled edges. I had to go RIGHT THEN or risk actually shooting urine out of my belly button.

Now, Ruby and I shared the bathroom in question, the one I'd soon be using, with our suitemates, Baptist Judy and Penecostal Mary. Both quite adverse to my lack of inner monologue, which had left them in the wake of my ranting stream-of-consciousness cursings more than once. The general rule with the suitemate bathrooms consisted of always keeping the doors shut between the two rooms and always unlocking the other suitemate’s door before exiting the facilities. An easy enough task. Though if you were just popping in for a quick piss, you normally just took your chances. It's not like someone couldn't HEAR you through the plywood doors anyway. You had to assume that most people had enough sense to not walk in the bathroom if they heard a steady stream of urine hitting a porcelain bowl.

So I extracted myself from the impenetrable barrier my covers allowed me from the nasty aliens. Ruby, ever aware of my unabashed fear of aliens, had the heart not to let one trickle of laughter escape her as I pee-pee danced into the bathroom, shutting the door on the Icky Alien Movie.

I unbuttoned my slacks, pushed the zipper down and sat gratefully upon the toilet. As soon as I sat down, however, I knew something was wrong.

I COULD FEEL A LIGHT BUT PERSISTENT TOUCH ON MY INNER ASSCHEEKS.

But the urine was dashing out so quickly I had no way of stopping it. No matter how many Kiegel exercises you’ve done in your lifetime, THERE’S NO STOPPING A GIANT RUSH OF PISS, NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY.

So I mentally urged my bladder to empty as quickly as possible because I couldn’t STAND not knowing what was TICKLING MY DELICATE INNER ASSCHEEKS. THE INNER ASSCHEEKS ARE OFF LIMITS. TO EVERYONE.

And so I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, ready for the wipe-n-dash.