You stand up at the hole that is your toilet to pee. The hole fills in thirty seconds. You try to stop the pee from escaping, but your bladder aches too much to bear. Your feet are covered in the yellow liquid you are excreting. The national media network of the third-world country you live in come to videotape. All the piss is flooding every hut in sight. Phil Swift himself arrives, seeing if he can use Flex Seal to solve the flooding. But alas, he can’t, so instead he repeats “That’s a lot of damage!”. Suddenly, your feet leave the ground. Sanitation workers grab aimlessly at your legs, but fail. You ascend at a rate of 10 mph. 1 mile in the air. People bless the rains down in Africa that you are producing. 10 miles. You’ve been pissing for 3 hours continuously by now, but you can’t stop. You accelerate. As every news station in the world broadcasts your sticky situation, you reach the stratosphere. The pee gets faster. Faster. Faster. The pee you produced has now polluted the Nile River and the Pacific Ocean. Animals are dying from the urine; you are now public enemy number one. 1,000,000 miles. The pee has reached the speed of sound; airplanes that are hit by the piss are penetrated by the force. The world’s airports have ceased operation. 100,000,000 miles. You died of suffocation a while ago, but it keeps coming. Orbit is reached. Someday you will reach the speed of light posthumously, all because of your infinite pee. You are infinite.