“It Isn’t Martinelli’s; It’s Rod’s”

After a prolonged absence, Rod Benson has been hitting the Jockosphere this week. And he's been hitting it hard.  In his most recent entry, Rod relays the following story - - an epic of Homeric proportions.  (Thematically, anyway.)  He writes:

So I was at my girlfriends apartment in San Francisco one afternoon and she had to leave the house to go to work or something. The problem with this was that her roommate absolutely despises my presence, and hates when I'm around without her.

Hard to imagine, I know.  Because we love Rod Benson.  He continues:

My girl warned me to stay in the room with the door closed until I left and to not make much noise so that I wouldn't get her in trouble. I agreed and fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours later and could hear her roommate rumbling the next room. Damn.

After another hour or so of hiding in the bedroom, the urge to drain the main vein hit me like a ton of bricks. What was I to do? I couldn't leave the room, not yet at least. I didn't have many options. It's not like I could piss out the window from the fourth floor of a San Francisco building onto a busy street.

It's true. He couldn't.  So, he went with a more classic solution, one Rob Lunn might have appreciated:

Finally, when my bladder countdown turned from minutes to seconds, I made a play. I ran over to what used to be a glass of water and was now empty, stood over it, unzipped, and did my deal. It felt great, truly great.

As soon as I was done, a full glass nearly to the brim, by the way, I said to myself: "Don't forget to dispose of this glass before you leave." Can't just leave piss lying around these days, you know?

It's true.  You can't.  Except, he did:

Later that day I was walking with my boy Prelle. We had just gotten some Jamba Juice in the marina and were headed to grab some real food somewhere in the area. My phone buzzed. It was a BBM from my girlfriend.

"Is that Urine in a glass on my desk?"

While others might have lost their composure, Rod took the situation in stride, as only Rod could:

I froze. I yelled. I laughed. I worried, Prelle looked at me like I had gone crazy. He asked me what I was reacting to. I first set up the backstory, then I showed him the BBM.

Prelle, a man who knows an instant classic when he encounters one, responded:

Wait, wait, wait. This is the greatest question ever. It has like three parts, each worse than the part before. Is that Urine? In a glass? On my desk?

So, what's the moral of this story?  (With Rod, you always get some kind of moral.):

I guess I've learned my lesson. If I'm gonna piss in a glass, I need to leave a note saying that it isn't Martinelli's, it's Rod's.