Here was my problem: I had bears on the outside, trying to get in. And I had pee on the inside, trying to get out.

Last week I went camping in the forests of New Mexico with my girlfriend. It was an official campground in a U.S. National Forest. Clean and safe, right? But just because the government owns it doesn't mean it ain't still the great outdoors.

We got to our camp, set up our tent, collected our firewood, and got everything ready for a night of roasting marshmallows and drinking beer. Once everything was set up, we decided to go hiking. As we walked out of our campsite -- not even 10 feet from our tent -- we saw a bunch of trees all scratched up and clawed, as if a bear had scratched up and clawed them. Closer inspection revealed five or six trees in our immediate vicinity with similar claw marks.

And then, about 50 or 100 feet down the path from our camp, right there on the path, was copious amounts of crap. Big, black crap, clearly from a really big animal. I've seen cow poop and I've seen horse poop and brother, this was neither. Horses poop green grassy poop and cows poop cow piesƒ this was big and black and was it a bear? I don't know, but I thought so.

So, night falls. We eat food, we drink beer. We build a big fire. We drink more beer. The temperature falls, the fire burns out, we go to bed.

But I can't sleep. I'm uncomfortable on the cold hard ground, I'm cramped in our tiny tent, and I'm listening for bears.

In my half-asleep, half-drunk delirium, all I can think about are bears. I can picture how it'll go down: I'll hear the bear lumbering into the camp site, growling lightly under its breath. I'll freeze, I won't make a sound, I won't breathe. It'll brush by the tent, and I'll gasp. It'll hear my gasp, and start sniffing and prodding the tent. My girlfriend will try to hold me down, but I'll writhe and cry out. The bear will swipe at the tent, and that'll be it. Screaming like a nine-year-old girl, I'll burst from the tent, running desperately towards the car, yelling and sobbing and praying. The bear will run me down easily, almost playfully, pinning me against the car and ripping open my chest with it's powerful claws. My screams will echo off the canyon walls as a final, fatal swipe sends my head flying off my shoulders, bouncing off trees and rocks, rolling to a final rest, my blank eyes staring and my mouth open in a silent, eternal expression of pain.

And so this is where my mind is when I realize I had to pee. Bad.

What do I do? If I leave the tent, a bear'll surely maul me. I could just stick Little Dave out the tent flap and pee in front of the tent like I used to do in Boy Scouts, but I'm afraid that the smell of my urine will only attract bears closer to me tent. I can just picture Little Dave getting bitten off in mid-stream.

As I pondered more and more, holding it became less and less of an option. I tossed and turned. Every strange noise made adrenaline rush through my body, made me stiffen and sit up, straining my ears to hear my approaching doom. My bladder pounded. I had no choice. If I didn't risk death from bear attack, I would be risking death from bladder explosion!

Finally, I did what any brave, courageous, red-blooded man would do. I woke up my girlfriend and made her come with me.

-- Dave [1]

Like Dave? He's featured in The Journal of Ass Production [2]!