TOILET HUMOR

©2006 by Bob Johnson

In one of my past lives (circa 1995), I was "Drama Bob" at a summer camp for privileged children in Washington, D.C. My mission was to write short plays and coerce children to perform them for their parents.

Each child was special. One 7-year-old in particular, Annie (who had shoulder length brown hair, a few freckles and was missing her two front teeth), was even more special because she was funny.

One day Annie approached me with a sincere request: "Drama Bob, I want to play a toilet."

"I can’t promise you anything, Annie," I said, "but I’ll see what I can do."

So I went to work writing "Princess Poodle and the Brussels Sprouts," one of the worst plays that I have ever written. I did, mind you, figure out a way

that Annie could play a toilet in a very tasteful manner. Suffice it to say that Annie would mime being a toilet and nobody in the audience would really know what she was doing.

The next morning, I told Annie the good news. I have never seen a child so filled with delight in my life.

"Can I get long, white gloves to wear?" she asked. "So I can wear them and hold my arms out in front of me like this so when I do my arms will look like a real toilet seat?"

This kid was WAY too into her character.

I said, "Sure."

That afternoon, the kids decided that they were tired and wanted to take a nap. Just as they were starting to settle down, Annie came up to me and asked, "Drama Bob?"

"Yes, Annie?"

"Can I sing a song, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"I wrote a song to sing when I’m playing the toilet. It’ll be funny."

"I don’t know. Sing it for me."

She did:

"Do you want to pee on me?

Pee on me?

Pee on me?

Do you want to pee on me?

All through the day?"

I, being the mature adult that I was, fell on the floor, doubled over in laughter. Of course, a performance of Annie’s song could only lead to one thing: me getting fired. Even given the consequences of losing my job,

The reality of making it happen was very tempting.

After I regained some composure, I said, "No, Annie. I don’t think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked. "It’s funny."

"Trust me" I replied.

"But it’s funny. You laughed," she said.

"I know," I said. "But no."

My tone of understanding and empathy didn¹t seem to register with Annie. She was miffed and she had made up her mind to fight for her cause.

I walked into the auditorium the next morning to find 10 seven-year-old girls marching around on stage, clomping their feet with gusto while singing "Do You Want to Pee on Me?".

I didn’t know what to do. I had lost to a bunch of little girls. I had lost their respect and lost control of the class. The normative socially acceptable behavior dictated by American society frowns upon civilized

Girls singing tinkle songs in public. And I, unfortunately, was being paid to enforce socially acceptable behavior.

So I had to put on a stern tone of voice and yell, "No! We will not be singing pee songs in this auditorium or in this class or at this camp or in this play. Not now. Not ever. Stop it!"

The girls stopped and pouted. Annie was still mad. I felt their pain. They were right, I was wrong. I had become the establishment.

Sadly, my relationship with Annie never was the same. She didn’t try to make me laugh anymore. She avoided me. Even though she had realized her dream of playing a toilet on stage, the following summer she was still in revenge

mode: she signed up to be with "Drama Margo."

I hope someday, when Annie’s old enough, that someone who knows her reads this and passes it along to her to read. She has probably forgotten me by now or perhaps she’s in some therapist¹s office talking about the oppressive

drama counselor that stifled her creativity.

Whatever the case may be, if she tracks me down and she still wants to perform her song, I’ll help her produce her one-woman show. She can title it Do You Want to Pee on Me?: The Adventures of a Happy Camper.