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You Can Make It Up: Whoopi Goldberg Pees Her Pants Almost Constantly

Gabe loves fan fiction. You Can Make It Up features his own personal alternate adventures starring some of our favorite characters.

Whoopi Goldberg lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every morning, she tried to take a few minutes to adjust to the new day. For one thing, it helped her remember her dreams better, and Whoopi Goldberg loved being able to remember her dreams. Aren’t dreams strange and fascinating? She would ask people on her bowling team, or anyone, really. Her barber. Her boxing coach. “Yes, Whoopi, dreams are totally weird. I bet you have crazy dreams, Whoopi,” they would say. She did have crazy dreams. One time, she dreamt that she was a man, and that she was getting married to a can of Alaskan salmon in a destination wedding in the Seychelles, but she was running late because her motorcycle was actually a penis. Haha, what? Dreams! She also found that spending a few extra minutes helped her to focus on her goals for the day. For example, today Whoopi Goldberg had the goal of being on television again, and maybe eating some soup. Whoops! A little pee came out. Just a dribble. Haha, Whoopi laughed it off. Whoops! More pee! It was totally normal and nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, it was too normal. Whoopi was supposed to be offbeat!

In the kitchen, Whoopi’s assistant had already laid out some coffee and oatmeal with walnuts and cinnamon and fresh strawberries. Whoopi could feel a gentle but constant leakage of urine drip down her leg as she looked through the paper for the day’s biggest stories. Even though the producers at The View prepared a lot of material for them, Whoopi liked to be really caught up on important world events. She didn’t want to look stupid on national television. She’d never say this out loud, but some of her co-hosts, particularly Sherri Shepherd and Elisabeth Hasselbeck, were two of the stupidest fucking idiots she had ever met, and sometimes she shook her head in shame and disgust that people considered the utter garbage that came out of their mouths on a daily basis to be valuable opinions or in someway representative of “women”. So, Whoopi Goldberg read the papers. And she peed her pants.

Outside, a limo idled in the darkness of the early morning, ready to take Whoopi into New York City to tape her very important and very interesting TV show. As she walked to the car, a thin line of pee marked her path. It looked like one of those gasoline trails in action movies, where just at the last second the hero drops his trademark lighter that he keeps ostentatiously pulling out all through the movie, or maybe his classic cigar that’s always in his mouth, onto the trail and as the blue flame races towards the enemies and their inevitable fiery demise, he says something like “Bye bye.” Something like that. Well, in any case, that’s what the pee looked like. But it wouldn’t catch on fire, probably. It was pee, silly! Whoopi got into the car, a little squirt of pee shooting from her as she bent at the waist, but nothing she wasn’t used to.

The backseat of the limo, as always, was covered in towels, as was the custom when a woman rides in a limousine. You just never know!

It was cold in the studio to keep the talent from sweating off their makeup or developing unsightly wet spots under their arms, but Whoopi was warm, or at least her legs were. She headed into makeup and told Candy, her makeup artist, all about the dream she’d had the night before. “My penis was bigger than usual, and I was standing on top of a very tall building, and I could see for miles, and far off in the distance there was a motorcycle. Careful, Candy. Your application of my makeup is going to–whoops, there’s some.” Then Whoopi headed into warddrobe where she was outfitted in her green pants. The pants, of course, could be keyed out using computers and made to look like normal pants that were not sopping with pee. It used to be, when she was younger, that Whoopi’s lower half had to be masked out and replaced with a matte painting. It was clunky and often looked cheap. Now, with her green screen dry pants, she looked like a respectable lady with a bladder completely under her control.

The show was about to begin. Even now, after decades in the business, Whoopi Goldberg still got a tiny prickly rush of excitement right before the cameras began to roll. It ran up her spine and spread across the top of her head like heat lightning, and of course it triggered a healthy gush of urine, which ran down her legs and spread across the floor like heat lightning.