I want to go to the top of a really tall building, take a leak, finish, zip up, and then have my pee hit the ground. I want my entire pee to be airborne. Man I love beer.
Thanks for Sequimming
Not too many people know this, but on the western outskirts of Sequim, next to the sign that informs that you are leaving the Sequim city limits, there is a sign that reads:
"Thanks for Sequimming!"
Besides being inherently ridiculous, it's also kind of frightening. I've seen more than one man shakily pull over to the side of the road just outside of town, clasp his head in his hands, and moan piteously as he realizes he had been Sequimming without knowing it. This is followed by a desperate, pathetically doomed attempt to manufacture some kind of plausible excuse for the wife, who will already be suspicious of the unmistakable scent of lavender.
Worse, there is no antidote. At least, not in the direction of Port Angeles, unless you happen to find your salvation in being gang-raped by a pack of underemployed loggers. Don't bother trying the drugstore for help; no amount of ointment will cure you of having Sequimmed.
At this point, the sensible person will realize there is no profit in trying to turn back. Get it over with, I say. Dosewallips and Chimacum await you, sinner.