The question is often asked whether someone is ruled by their heart or their head.
Neither is true.
Just like the One Ring, one organ rules them all, at least first thing in the morning. This more prosaic organ is not associated with executive functions, creativity or blood circulation but rather with daily maintenance and housekeeping.
What’s the very first thing you usually do when you wake up in the morning from your dreamy slumbers, whether you’re male or female, rich or poor, Aspie or neurotypical, young or old, straight, gay or transgendered?
Visit the bathroom.
The bloated organ known as a bladder has sent it’s urgent message to Central Command that it demands immediate attention or else. Yes, the small bald red organ (BALD RED: anagram of bladder: well, hopefully all your internal organs are bald as a hairy one could lead to all kinds of gross trouble) sends a CODE RED message to Central Command. It’s insistent pressure is the first thing you usually notice and may even have been the factor which woke you up. The small blind balloon-shaped sac, which could be described as one of your body’s cleaners / maintenance men) has spoken.
Every few hours your personal Drainage Collector demands its place in the Organ Pecking Order.
You may be planning a very special day: to write a symphony perhaps, deliver a rousing speech to an audience of thousands, write an exam in astrophysics, classify a new species of butterfly or simply spray paint colourful graffiti on some local concrete architecture, but before you do any of that you need those few moments to acquiesce to nature’s demands.
Satisfied for the moment, the newly emptied little bald red balloon will lie low in his dark corner while, inaudible to our ears, the drip, drip of the next lot of waste liquid gradually builds up so that in a few hours he is ready to make fresh demands to Central Command.
Let’s raise our hats to the little bald gentleman who so kindly performs this rather banal but very necessary task! Spare a thought or two for his unpleasant but vital function!
Imagine if boxers (or, heaven forbid, wrestlers) had a territorial ritual akin to that observed in their bull mastiffs. As soon as the opening bell rings, our two boxers drop their latex shorts to their knees, walk slowly around the ring (goodness knows why something which is square should be referred to as a ring) while now and then sniffing each others’ hairy butts, then retreat to their respective corners. Having prepared their ritual the night before with copious quantities of tea or beer, they take aim and begin spraying their corners. At this point that some of the ladies in the audience may switch allegiances and begin yelling for the one with the cuter butt or the better package… on second thoughts, maybe this wouldn’t be such a hot idea: let’s leave it to Rover and Caesar!
Rumour has it that Southern California’s been so dry lately that old ladies pay young guys who’ve knocked off a few drinks, to come and spray their rhododendrons for them! This is known as Radical Ranch-Hand Redd’s Recycling.