Hell is inhabited by:
- The Devil, a real piece of work that spent the better part of a half-century keeping urine troughs in the Carrier Dome.
- People that made a deal with The Devil to keep urine troughs in the Carrier Dome.
- Those that did not have the courage to speak out against urine troughs, instead complacently urinating into troughs like dirty animals without standing up against The Devil or people that made a deal with The Devil.
Every day that will pass after Syracuse fires its urine troughs into the sun, carried on a spaceship trailing urine dribble and stink behind it, will stand as a heroic victory for the Trough Resistance, pushing back on Hell after decades upon decades of Hell-in-Dome. The tyranny of the urine trough has finally been overcome, allowing us all to take a leak like a captain of industry rather than some prisoner making a pit stop while between the rec yard to arts and crafts in the library.
Many will champion the efficiency of urine troughs, but this claim is the crux of the deal with The Devil: Any loss of speed is preferable to the alternatives. No longer will we be subject to some weird old dude with his hands on his hips, wiener hanging out, turning to tell you all about how he can cure Eric Dungey of concussions. No more collateral splash from an unknown dinky (and what disgusting garbage it has been in). No longer will a kid spray piss on the floor because Dad can’t wait the extra 60 seconds to put his young lunatic into a stall. Staring at a pile of — vomit? pulled pork snuck in from the far reaches of CNY — clogging the drain and festering is approaching its final days. The era of looking for two feet of personal space to do your business as if you were a survivor in a war zone is over. The petri dish of forever stench is dying, and everyone with a working nose exclaims its demise.
If there is glory in taking a leak into a communal bucket as if you were hiding in a cave during the robot apocalypse, you may as well wear a diaper and piss yourself in Section 311 without having to move your legs or have an ounce of self respect. There is no upside to urinating into a trough other than confirming that your body is still in decent working order, and even then the working condition of your brain comes into question. The finest technology of the mid-1800’s is being displaced by the finest technology of the late-1800’s, and the momentum of human history will not be slowed by having to pee into porcelain molded by man to ensure one’s basic dignity.
The trough is dead, forever, and its gross history will be left with other awful Dome inventions like this nightmare. We are to become free, liberated from the shackles of an unholy pact made by a few thinking they were benefitting the many, permitted to achieve our full human potential: Not having to squirt into a cooperative misery pit.
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Ladies: Don’t ask.