Da7e Gonzales is a blogger, writer, pop culture nut, lo-fi music hobbyist, producer, columnist, narcissistic, shut in, quad-Post-Modern Hipster (PoPoPo-Po-Mo).

He currently works at MTV's 16 & Pregnant, Teens Mom 1, 2 and 3, writes at LatinoReview.com, podcasts weekly at FightingInTheWarRoom.com, produces at Legend Of Korra Podcast at RepublicCityDispatch.com and produces independent film projects when he can.

Here, he posts whatever the hell he wants.
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Everyone has those stories that are told about them. Some people label them as part of your “reputation,” but those are the people that don’t have the right types of stories. I have two sets of stories that follow me around: ones I like to tell because they involve famous people or situations that make me look much cooler than I am, and ones that make me look like a jackass. The first group is a collection I would like to classify as my “reputation,” the second are just told by my friends to make me look like an idiot.

This story falls in the second category.

After a night of drinking in several bars and finishing up in the apartment, my friends and I were all sitting in my roommate’s room discussing pretentious University things and chain-smoking cigarettes like only the truly wasted are able to do. I stabbed out my most recent butt in the ashtray, and finished up whatever conversation I was having so I could answer the call of nature before I got another beer. Everyone in the room continued conversation without me, because although animated and witty, I’m under appreciated unless I’m doing something stupid. Luckily, I was ready to appease my drunken audience.

I quickly discovered that the bathroom was locked. Inside, my friend Vanessa was both crying over the guy that didn’t stick around to make out with her and vomiting at the same time. I pounded on the door - during what must have been a humiliating moment on the other side - and told her that if she didn’t let me in by the count of five, I was going to piss in the sink. I thought this was an empty threat, but because of the alcohol I blurred the line between sarcasm and reality somewhere between the numbers 3 and 1. My roommate walked out of the conversation room to find that I had pushed the dishes aside and was urinating (very accurately, might I add) into the sink’s drain.

He was, naturally, disgusted with my behavior. After a few glancing blows were exchanged, I brought up the fact that urine is, in fact, sterile and harmless. There seems to be much debate in on this topic, and I haven’t researched it since, but I can vaguely remember someone telling me this at some sort of survival camp; the sort of event I was made to attend when I was a young Boy Scout. Ironically, I misuse the majority of the knowledge gained at those getaways.

After a few moments of argument, I blurted out: “Look, I should be allowed to pee in the kitchen sink. It’s sterile I could drink piss and nothing would happen to me.” My roommates are very smart people, and it didn’t take them long to convince me that I needed to drink urine to prove their point. I believe the details were that I had to get a mouth-full of it, gargle for 2 seconds, then swallow.

I’m a person who likes to keep to their word, and I swore urine was sterile. So I was in.

Three of my friends ended up pissing in a bottle and presenting me with it. I don’t remember if I knew it was three people’s urine at the time, but it was. Luckily, my three subjects had also been drinking – and had broken the seal long ago – so their particular cocktail was rather clear. As it was refrigerating, so I wouldn’t have to drink it warm, I started to freak out. I knew I couldn’t back out of the deal, so I clandestinely grabbed my roommates Anbesol – a local anesthetic liquid used for cold sores – and rubbed it all over my tongue, numbing it for 10 minutes.

When I paraded into that room and gargled that piss, I was a God among men. There’s a video of it that exists somewhere; everyone cheering and/or disgusted as I gargled three other men’s pee. Then, just to prove that they shouldn’t push me again (and I’m sure due to the fact that I couldn’t taste anything), I drank the rest of the pee as a surprise encore.

We all know drunk nights end in urination. Sometimes on the street, sometimes in the toilet, sometimes on your bed. But don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t piss in your own kitchen sink.

When my friends tell that story to other people, I always like to add that I have dated women who knew about that story and that my oral hygiene is still above average.