Greg's eyes snapped open as the sudden urge to pee overwhelmed him. He instantly regretted the two glasses of water he drank before bed. He carefully got out of bed, mindful not to wake his partner, Damien, and shuffled to the bathroom in his maroon bathrobe and pink bunny slippers.

The door was closed, so he felt around for the doorknob. Upon opening the door, he waited until he shut the door behind him before he turned the light on. Instead of finding what one would usually find in a bathroom; a toilet, bathtub, sink, what have you, Greg found a large dimly lit conference room with several people seated around a black oval table.

Before Greg could even ask, “What?”, a man in a black suit and tie swooped in out of nowhere and handed him a manila folder.

“Sir, we’re ready to begin the negotiations,” the man said. “The Argosians are very anxious to get under way. The Frellians are hungry, so I took the liberty of ordering from Bellduci’s. They loved the shrimp scampi you got them last time.”

None of these words were making sense to Greg. He was still groggy, his eyes not quite ready to be functional. He was hoping to retain his drowsiness while he peed, but as he was escorted to the table, it dawned on him that he was expected to do a thing.

His eyes had finally adjusted to the lights hanging somewhere above the table when he sat down at the end. He wished they hadn’t. He gazed at the people seated with him and discovered they were not, in fact, human. Aliens? The hell is going on?

He must have been staring because the two sets of aliens on either side stared back in bewilderment. To his left were creatures that looked like giant piles of snot with chunks of pineapples for eyes. To his right were creatures that were giant elephants, literal elephants, but dressed like Babar characters. This had to be a dream. Though the important question was: which ones loved the shrimp scampi?

“Mr. President?” the suited man asked, a hint of embarrassment was evident in his voice.

Greg turned to him and whispered, “Can I do this after I pee?” He frowned when the man shook his head. “Fine.” If he couldn’t pee until it was over, he’d get this over with as quickly as possible.

He turned to the snot creatures and slammed his fist on the table. “You, fallopians! What do you want?”

“Frellians, Mr. President.” The man coughed into his hand to better aid the correction.

The four Frellians jiggled and gurgled in unison while an automated voice translated from above. “We want the Argosians to stop flying in our airspace without proper clearance.”

The elephant people trumpetted their offence. “We owned that planet before you invaded it; therefore it is our airspace to use as we see fit.”

The two species argued while the computer voices clashed, oftentimes cutting in and out. Greg was impressed, but also somewhat disappointed the conflict wasn’t more dramatic. There had to be a clear cut way to solve this issue quickly.

“Frellians, is it true you invaded their planet?” Greg leaned toward them, hoping to look impressive, but was actually an attempt to keep his bladder from releasing.

“We travel the galaxy seeking weak planets to conquer,” the lead Frellian said. “They weren’t using it to its full potential, so we took it.” The Argosians trumpeted their disagreement, but Greg silenced them with a raise of his right hand. “The planet is ours now, therefore our airspace.”

Greg turned to the Argosians and nodded, allowing them to plead their case.

“Your conquering of our planet has disrupted our established trade routes,” the lead Argosian said. “It is a vital junction which supplies materials vital to our empire of planets. Denying us use of our own space will cripple our economy, as well be a detriment to our people.”

Suddenly all eyes were on Greg. From the intensity of their stares, they were waiting for a judgment. What did he care who used whose airspace? Why did he have to decide who used it? Where was his toilet?

Sensing the suit was about to urge him to say something, Greg cleared his throat to sound presidential. “Where I’m from, possession is nine-tenths of the law. Frellians, you currently own the planet, the airspace is yours.” He saw the Argosians’ trunks twitch with irritation.

“But, the Frellians are impeding the lives of the Argosians, which I can no longer abide. I hereby declare the Frellians must allow trade to continue, but on appointed days chosen by the Argosians. No more than three days. Don’t get greedy.” He saw both parties were about to object, but Greg slammed his fist again. “My decision is final. Make it work.”

With that, he stood up and tossed the manila folder to the suit. “Peace out!” He marched back to the door he entered without looking back. He gripped the handle and hoped it would take him back home. He opened the door and stepped through. He closed his eyes and prayed. With the door closed, he opened them and sighed in relief as his precious toilet was present.

He quickly opened his robe and took the most glorious pee he’d ever had. He let out a pleasurable moan as his stream flowed from him like the Nile, hitting the water like thunderous applause.

He shook and tapped, then flushed. As he washed his hands, he heard Damien ask if he was okay. He was better than okay, he was empty. All he had to do was prevent interstellar war. Not bad for a night’s work. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to do it again any time soon. It was then he realized he was thirsty.