This article is part of 2005 Week on Noisey, where we revisit all the best and worst pop culture relics from a decade ago.
You’ve seen the photo. It, as photos are said to do, says a thousand words.
Videos by VICE
In 2005, the Black Eyed Peas were scheduled to perform in San Diego but they were running late. Very late. The traffic leading to the venue was so bad that they arrived with no time to do anything but take the stage. Fergie, will.i.am., and the other two members rushed out to greet their waiting fans. No one else knew it, but there was trouble a’brewin’ deep inside of Fergie.
Fergie was not afforded the time to void her body of the urine stored inside, urine that was percolating to the very top. Sure, she desperately needed to use the ladies room, but as the saying goes, the show must go on.
As the Peas were getting it started with “Let’s Get It Started,” Fergie was trying so very hard to not get it started. “It” in this scenario being the pee coming out of her body. She fought it. She resisted. She held back with the fury of a thousand suns. But she could feel the pressure within her growing and growing with the beat.
And the bass kept runnin’, runnin’…
She kept singing.
Runnin’ runnin’ and runnin’ runnin’…
She kept dancing.
Runnin’ runnin’ and runnin’ runnin’…
She kept performing.
But it all became too much for poor Fergie. The levees within broke and the urine flowed through her insides and started leaking out of the part of a woman’s body where the pee comes out. For the purpose of this story, we will call this the ladypenis.
Fergie felt her ladypenis fill her knee-length khaki shorts more and more with a stream of yellow shame. She filled them so much that there was a visible indicator betwixt her legs—a dark spot of humiliation and also urine. You could see it from the front, you could see it from the back, but to look at Fergie’s face, you’d find no indicator of tumult. To gaze upon her eyes, you’d witness nothing but sheer determination. An indomitable spirit soaring high and majestically.
Someone snapped a photo, and the world would forever remember whatever day that was as the day Fergie peed her pants on stage, living in infamy for all eternity.
Even now, we mock Fergie for this. We concoct clever jokes like “What is this, the Black Eyed Pees?” and “Hey the ‘My Humps’ lady peed in her pants instead of in a toilet, which is the incorrect way to do it.” Why?
Do we deride football players for mangling their fingers and still mustering the courage to charge into the fray when the big game is on the line? Do we laugh when ultramarathoners are so chaffed from running miles and miles that their nipples start to bleed? Hm? Is there something funny about that? About the sight of an adult man in spandex shorts, so dedicated to running that he develops red, sopping circles near his areolas? I suspect not.
Fergie suffered for her art. So intensely committed to getting it started in there was she that she made the ultimate sacrifice, the sacrifice of peeing in your pants. So the next time you’re thinking of making a joke at Fergie’s expense to the tune of her peeing in her pants, just remember: She did it for you.
Bless you, Fergie, you brave and steadfast warrior, with your unwavering resolve and prideful conviction. Urine credible.
Dan Ozzi does not pee in his pants himself but will defend to the death your right to do it. Follow him on Twitter – @danozzi
