To pee, or not to pee, That is the question- Whether 'tis bladder or the behind To suffer the missing TP Of outrageous porcelein Or to take arms against a sea of dribbles And by o-pissing, end them? To drain, to pee- No more; and by a pee to say we end The bladder-ache, and the Thousand nocturnal splashes That kidney is heir to? 'Tis a Wet emission devoutly To be washed. To drain, to pee, To pee, perchance to Void; Aye, there's the flush, For in that pee of drainage, What voids may come, When we have flushed off This mortal toilet, Must give us piss. There's The re-flush that makes Clenching of so long urethra. For who would bear the Plunge and flow of lines, The O-ring's wrongs, the [i]plumber[/i] man's hourly, The pangs of [i]surprise[/i] sharts, The flow's delay, The insolence of orifice, and The spews that bladder merit Of the unemptied tanks, When he himself might his Emptiness make With a bare catheter? Who Would these liters bear, To grunt and sweat under A fluorescent light, But that the wet of Something after emptying, The now deflated balloon, From whose poured No water returns, Dribbles the willy, And makes us wipe and shake Those spills we have, Than open our fly to Urinals that we know not of. Thus uric acid does make Showers of us all, And thus the nephro hue Of liquid urine Is stickied o'er, with the pale Splash of hot pee, And entrails of heavy splish And bowel movement, With piss unfurled their Currents turn [i]upright[/i] And let loose the piss in their face.