Potty Hottie

"You gotta go, you gotta go."

- Capt. McCluskey granting Michael permission to go to the bathroom at the restaurant in "The Godfather."

The Pee Post with advanced “Go Here” pheromones looked like a fat yellow thumbtack. The instructions were straightforward: stick it in the ground, place your puppy next to it, and the miracle of outdoor urination occurs. It was like the Staples “Easy” Button of pet-training products.

The secret was in the pheromones, and the Pee Post claimed to be full of the smelly little things. All living creatures secrete pheromones for a variety of reasons, including sexual attraction. The Pee Post was supposed to make housebreaking easier because it worked with the natural instinct of your pet.

Brian decided it was time to install the Pee Post. He ripped open the package and gagged. It smelled like Dung Beetle breath mixed with road kill. Sick panic overtook his face. He dropped the Pee Post and ran to the bathroom.

“I don’t know about Vito,” Brian said to me as I blew by him to get into the bathroom myself, “but the Pee Post sure worked on me.”

“Don’t touch that thing!" I screamed as I shut the bathroom door. “It’s toxic!” The pheromones worked on me in a way I can't go into on a public Blog.

Nick walked in, whistling after his workout. He stopped mid-step. He crossed his legs. “Oh my God,” he said and barreled into the bathroom.

Christina remained paralyzed in the recliner with her sweater pulled over her mouth and nose, “I can’t breathe,” she choked. “Get that thing out of here!”

Brian stuck the Pee Post in the ground outside. He put the puppy on top of it. Vito caressed it. He licked it. He wrapped himself around it. He pulled it out of the ground and pranced around with it. The dog did everything but pee on it.

Brian came back in from outside with Vito in his arms, shaking his head. No luck. Just as he put Vito on the family room carpet, the puppy let loose so much urine you would have thought that he was a pregnant hippopotamus.

Two hours later, I took Vito back to the Pee Post. He looked at me and winked. He rubbed himself against me like a cat. He tapped my foot with his paw and hopped backward. I think he was flirting with me.

While the pheromones did not appear to work on his bladder, they did stimulate his libido. When I looked into his hormone-amped eyes, I saw a video of his thoughts. He and I were at an Italian restaurant. We shared a strand of spaghetti in some kind of twisted version of “Lady and The Tramp.”

Or maybe that was my own reaction to the pheromones.