Why Sitting Down Might Just Save Civilization

 

🚽 The Great Stand-Off: Why Sitting Down Might Just Save Civilization

A mostly sarcastic, slightly serious essay on bathroom diplomacy

Co-written with Microsoft Copilot, aka Cody, my digital co-conspirator and rant enthusiast.

Let’s start with a serious question: Why are men taught to stand up and pee?

No, really—why? Just because someone can do something doesn’t mean they should. I can eat cereal with a fork. I can technically floss with a shoelace. But that doesn’t make it a good idea.

Culturally speaking, standing to pee is one of those traditions passed down like a family recipe nobody really likes but keeps making anyway. A holdover from a time when indoor plumbing didn’t exist and “marking territory” meant something a little more... primal. But here in the modern age—where we have soft-close toilet seats and antimicrobial sprays—can we admit that the upright stream might be due for a redesign?

Because here’s the thing: when confronted about the aftermath, the response is almost always: > “It misfired.”

Misfired. As if that hose is some unruly garden snake with a mind of its own, staging tiny protests against civility. And hey—I sympathize. But if the equipment comes with unpredictability baked in, shouldn’t the user adopt a strategy that limits collateral damage? Like, say, sitting down?

And let’s talk aim. If a cop had that kind of aim when pulling the trigger, he’d be back to writing parking tickets before his first donut.

This whole debate often circles the drain of the seat wars: “He never puts it down.” “She never leaves it up.” But the part that gets conveniently overlooked? Who’s cleaning the porcelain blast radius.

Let me offer some firsthand evidence. In most of the homes I’ve shared with men, the difference between “his” toilet and “my” toilet is staggering. Mine is clean. Pristine, even. There are no surprise splatters. No golden hieroglyphics gracing the sides, the base, or—heaven help us—the nearby cabinetry.

This isn’t about nagging. It’s about the quiet, underestimated labor of cleaning up after the misfires, the oopsies, the territorial spritz. And the maddening fact is: it could all be avoided by just… sitting down.

Final thought: I’m not asking for a revolution. I’m asking for logic. For splash-free mornings and dignity-restoring bathrooms. So, sit, gentlemen. Sit for us all.

📬 A Letter to the Misfiring Masses

Dear Upright Aimers,

We come in peace—but not without Lysol.

You’ve told us it’s about convenience, tradition, or anatomy. We’ve countered with science, splash radius, and the universal truth that no one wants to step in a puddle at 3 a.m.

We’ve tried humor. We’ve tried logic. We’ve even tried hosting etiquette charts laminated and taped to the lid.

But still the seat is up, the rim is Jackson Pollock’d, and the floor bears silent witness to your nightly indiscretions. (If you don’t get the reference to Jackson Pollock: he was an artist known for flinging paint in chaotic splatters. Now you really get it.)

So here’s our final plea: Sit. Not because you’re whipped or weak—but because you are capable of growth. (And because our mops are on strike.)

With bladder empathy and antibacterial wipes, The Sit-Down Society