R. I. P. TINKLE TINKLE RIP VAN WINKLE

When Old Man Winkle died the undertaker, with approval of his maker, buried him on the shore beside the tree known locally as the resting place where he had slept and snored for twenty years. Tears were shed in the lake he created when he urinated that mighty stream.

Townsfolk stopped by his grave and gave thanks for his boost to the local economy he'd created with his pee. Farms and homes along Lake Tinkle's shore increased in value, you see, because they were now water front property.

Over the years the lake lost its yellow tint and turned mint green as rain and snow added to the flow that had begun when Rip, in front of everyone, exposed himself to empty his bloated bladder. But that's another matter. It was now the home of fish, the source of delicious dishes where many a skinny dipper wished to pish. It's reputed to be polluted but folks don't care. It's where they wash their underwear, their hair and derriere, drain water for irrigation and sail their boats on vacation.

The old guy's stone is known as a redundancy in the history of urinarial biography. The old guy as years went by became a poet and, wouldn't you know it, don't laugh. He wrote his own epitaph:

Here lies RIP, may he R. I. P. and pee throughout eternity.
Van Winkle's tinkle brought prosperity to the community.
So if you have a sudden urge to purge, let it flow
Because when you gotta go you gotta go.