Maybe one of us was going to talk about boom boxes

Well I fired up the ol' mimeograph machine here to weigh in on a few of my favorite stereotypes: sony, technics, car, that sort of thing. Had a nice article all planned out. Then I start glancing around StuffPo and what do I find? Bennington pre-emptively mocked my whole concept with the subtitle of his stereotype article. Clearly my ideas don't pass mustard at Bennington's mental hot dog stand.

So here I am all signed in and no article to write; guess it's time to free associate. The last thing I read in Bennington's article was "Stereotypes reveal a variety of wonderful information about people ranging from genitalia size, learning ability, levels of apathy, generosity, frugality, sense of humor, and proclivity for violent behavior." Now that's good and true, but it's all abstract, head-in-the-clouds type stuff. You know what's way more tangible and contains that same information? Artist Tony Tasset ("I peed in my pants," 1994) does...

Urine.

Urea.

Uric acid.

Liquid gold.

Now, I've been a mellow yellow kind of guy since I learned how to rhyme - largely in protest against desert dwellers' backyard lawns, as alluded to in my "things i hate" article. I've even tried to carry the "brown is mellow" torch on a few occasions - usually just some philosophical repartee to cover up the fact that I sometimes forget to flush. Just now it's hitting me. How can I totally squirt my righteousness in the face of the Phoenix Golf Club? I'm going to start peeing on my veggies. That'll show em. Two birds, one stone; no more drip irrigation; no more bullshit flushing. Life is good.

Urine is two things: wet and stinky. Everyone knows plants need the wet. Fewer realize that plants love the stinky. That stinky is a nitrogen based fertilizer bar none. And someday, when our salmon and steelhead runs are completely annihilated from fresh water diversion, when oil has peaked and the wave of synthetic fertilizer that sustained our explosive population growth has receded back into the ether leaving a gaggle of dead golfers and golf courses in its wake, a day long after my prize zucchini takes state, I will be the last one chuckling as I saunter out into the moonlit ruins of a once mighty civilization and drench my veggies in pure. liquid. gold.