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Why I Put My Urine in Bottles in the Berger Laundry Room and Why You Should Too


urineAn Open Letter to the Social Justice Warriors Attacking our Freedom of Expression in the United States of America

Yes, it’s me, Charles C. Johnson: Champion of Truth, fabled shitter on the floor of Stark Hall, and more recently, the man who has been leaving bottles and bags of his own urine in the laundry room in the first floor of Berger Hall. If you attend CMC and live in the Berger/Benson/Claremont dorm complex, then earlier this week you received an email detailing my activities, villainizing me and demanding that I stop. Although this slanderous email did not name me personally, I am writing to you all today to take due credit for my work, because I AM NOT ASHAMED. I will not acquiesce to the administration’s orders and I hereby DEMAND that they retract their brazen email.

I will not sit idly by as my behavior is labeled “disrespectful,” “unsanitary,” “strange,” or “inexplicable and disgusting.” You might be thinking “Why would you do this? What could possibly be the benefit of bagging and bottling your own urine and putting it in a public place where people are trying to wash their clothes? What piss-poor excuse of a human being would do this to their neighbors?”

A fair question, I suppose.

The truth is, I did this because I love free expression, and, more importantly, because I love America. I love the American emphasis on free speech, and I exercise this right the way a dog marks his territory: by pissing on it. I have the type of love for America that can only be expressed through institutional racism (which is definitely a myth), blaming transportation accidents on homosexuality, and distributing bags of urine around my former college. I did this because the PC police have taken away our right to express ourselves, and to crowdfund assassinations on social media, leaving me with no viable alternatives besides using my actual waste, as opposed to the verbal diarrhea that once came from my mouth.

These days, politically correct culture is so bad that it even has its own acronym: P.C. Well, I want people to C my P. And if you safe-space loving crybabies can’t handle bags of urine in public places, then maybe you’re just not ready for the real world. Ever been in the New York subway? Piss everywhere. You’re welcome. Do you think for one second that ISIS would even hesitate to carpet bomb our entire nation with urine? I’m only preparing you for the rest of your life outside the Claremont Bubble.

Honestly, getting this point across is my Number 1 goal. Number 2 was the walls of Beckett. And while my medium may be my own human waste, you should know that I don’t want to take the piss out of what I’m trying to say. My next act? It rhymes with bajaculate bin Barks Ball.

Do you think this was easy? Do you think I enjoyed it? This involved drinking a thirty rack of Natty Lite over the span of 6 hours, then sitting in my room with various containers in which to relieve myself between drunken naps.

So why did I do it, you spoiled brats? Because if not me, who? If not now, when? Someone needs to put a stop to the pussification of our once great nation, and if that means I have to pee in bags for the rest of my life, then so be it.

And you know what else? I possess a deep, unconscious self-loathing that I must take out on others. I hate myself and all the world, and I really just need to make your lives as miserable as mine, if for just a few minutes while you work on making sure your darks and lights are separate (as they should be).

I don’t expect your gratitude or your understanding, but I write this with the full confidence that history will vindicate my efforts. As long as this world exists, I and others like me will be here to piss on it.

Go fuck yourselves,

Charles C. Johnson


As relayed to Sam Fraser, Katinka Ingabogovinanana, Chandler Koon, Ben Turner, Liat Kaplan and Brendan Busch


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