So to bed, where my wife and I had some high words upon my telling her that I would
fling the dog which her brother had gave her out the window if he pissed the house
any more.
—Samuel Pepys, February 12, 1660
The first thing you want to ask, upon reading this snippet of Mr. P’s famous daily
confession, is why not title this essay “On Pissing the House,” which is a very good
question, an excellent question, thank you very much.
Moving right along, why does Pepys use a comma, right off the bat, where he doesn’t,
really need one, and then he just lays, the whole idea, of using commas, down to die,
after that? and the whole which her brother had gave her, doesn’t that sound like Bill
Clinton on excellent acid? You can just see old Bill late at night with a huge honking
whiskey in each hand happily regaling a weary state trooper about the dog which a
mistress had give him who pissed the house, and the poor trooper, let’s call him Lester,
he’s thinking was it the dog or the mistress pissed the house, because he has heard
stories down in the barracks will make you pass a weasel laughing, but ol’
It Depends What Is Is is off and running now about the marijuana he did not no sir no
way inhale despite having it burning redolently under his capacious nose which despite
what sumbitch who weren’t even there be flinging insinuations to the rapscallions of the
media, Lester, the cold hard left nut of the matter is that no one was there at that point in
time, including me in a manner of speaking, you know your metaphysics, Lester, I
assume you do and not even the fella whose room it was which I don’t know who he
was neither, was there, so there y’go, pass me that bottle there, son.
Then there is the phrase my wife and I had high words, which we have all had, with our
spouse of whatever gender or degree of gender he or she or whatever is at, now during
my presidency, Lester, you didn’t see the gummint of the U knighted states sticking its
pepys into the business of people searching diligently for their gender identy, be they
even from Georgia or whatsowherever, during my presidency we had bigger frogs to fry,
which namely was world peace and prosperty, but some administration’s tit got caught in
the wringer of some first lady’s starvin’ for health care reform, which those three words’ll
make you piss the house and that’s a fact. Go on, Lester, say ’em aloud and see if your
bladder don’t go all Tip O’Neill on you, son. And then you really want to piss the house,
ponder some former first lady we know almost actually swearin’ in as POTUS, which I
don’t want to have to tell you would have mean lot of people sayin’ health care reform
which words you don’t want to say without you have a towel ready to hand, I tell you that.
Don’t spit whiskey out your nose like that, Lester, it’s indecent.
Finally let us consider the flinging of the dog, or prospective flinging of the dog, which
occasioned the high words, and which was itself occasioned by the pissing of the house.
Myself, now, Lester, I have flang a dog or two in my time, there are times when the dog
must be flang, and you got to get your legs under you for that, it’s done with the haunches,
like pitchin’ and politickin’, you get a good grip on the scruff of her neck, now, and you
crouch down real low, and one real smooth real quick motion and out she goes, Lester,
caterwaulin’ like a wolf what’s gay and proud of it, her old mauve pantsuit flappin’ like a
flag, and those three awful words all shreddin’ in the wind, heeeeeaaallthhhhhhh
caaaaaaaaaaaare reeeeeeform, don’t shoot whiskey out your nose, Lester, people’ll think
you’re from Georgia for heavenssake, all due respect to the Pee Pit State.
