There’s something permeating every fabric of existence. I know you can feel it, smell it, taste it and hear it. It’s everywhere. It resides on our clothes, in our coffee, under our thumbs and on our shopping carts. With powerful monocles we can see it dancing on the wall and tickling our faces on a faint winter morning. When we eat a sandwich, what are we really eating? Is it possible the universe propels from it’s continued reproduction of matter? We are byproducts of people who existed before us as they are of people who existed before them. So on and so forth, moving beyond people to different species until we reach the origin. We were all created by the universe. What some see as a big bang I see as the largest bowel movement in history.
Existence is shit and shit is existence. We all came from others shitting us out. Before them, animals shit animals and some of the animals morphed into two-legged, featherless parrots. Even the earliest microscopic lifeforms were created by the cataclysmic outfall of an esoteric asshole splattering existence all over the bathroom. There is nowhere to run. Eventually, you’ll run into feces. You can’t hide from it because it is everything. Meadow muffins live beyond the meadow.
It’s a sunny day in San Franshitsco. Everyone is so courteous they tell you how to live your life even when you don’t ask them. A fun day of sightseeing is ahead. Let’s stroll down the Civic Center Station and catch a ride to various parts of the city. What’s this? The escalator’s broken? This will not stand! I refuse to walk upstairs! Unfortunately, options are limited. The escalator is packed with human feces. Vagrants create a makeshift home of the transportation system, sleeping in stairwells and using the place as an outhouse. As I stand on the escalator and wait patiently for it to function, I’m left wondering how much shit it takes to disable a machine. The squishy anal babies must have overpopulated the internal mechanisms, drying to the gears and prohibiting life from moving forward. It’s what babies do best.
Speaking of babies, a woman named Sarena in OK City injected hers with fecal formula for two and a half years. Silly woman - that’s not how you make a shit balloon! Her defense attorney, Mr. Box, tried using a diagnosis of Munchausen syndrome prescribed by two mental health providers, but the judge couldn’t swallow that much shit. Sarena was sentenced to fifteen years - one year for each of the thirteen times the infant was hospitalized with poo-flu, plus an additional two years for the duration of the abuse. Can anyone really believe this was Munchausen syndrome? It’s possible that the woman craved attention from having a sick child, but isn’t it more likely that she wanted her daughter to be a miniature version of herself? Nothing ensures secondhand immortality like having a carbon copy around. Sarena, like so many people, is full of excrement. Her body uses shit the same way mine uses blood. To make a baby Sarena, she had to inject the infant with brown bottle juice.
Sarena could’ve taken a cue from Weusi in San Diego. It wouldn’t have helped her case, but it would’ve made Court TV watchable. During his trial for robbery and assault with a swinging rock sock, Weusi became agitated when the judge refused to tell the public defendant to go kick rocks. At a time like this, you can either regain some footing in the trial or continue to fall. Every move should be planned carefully. Using conceptual imagery to express his conflicting views with the judge’s interpretation of justice, Weusi took out a bag of shit and smeared it across his lawyer’s face and in his hair. Once his lawyer was sufficiently glazed, Weusi chucked the remaining feces at the jury, hitting someone’s briefcase. I can only imagine the emotional and financial damage inflicted on the owner of that briefcase. The lawyer probably suffered too, but that’s hard to care about.
Unlike Weusi, Mr. Fike from Fargo couldn’t wait for court. The Fargo PD were called to the old man’s house because of a loud party. Those wild senior citizens and their boisterous festivities! I’m sure it came as no surprise to the police when Mr. Fike dropped his pants, shit on the floor and began kicking colon scraps at them. The defense attorney argued that Fike was denied access to the bathroom by the police. This refusal fueled him into dumping on the floor to show them he was serious. He also stated that Fike was trying to kick the shit under a rug and not at officers. By his reasoning, toilet denial serves as a legitimate launching point for Fike’s shit-kicking fiasco. I believe his motivation, but refute his excuse. If he wanted to prove a point, playing sphincter lump soccer with cops was not the way. He should have squeezed out his anal vomit in a tupperware container on camera while holding a copy of a current day newspaper and reciting the pledge of allegiance. Then he could take it to a lab, get it classified as feces and publish the results online, exposing his case to a wide world of five page viewers and blowing the lid off police brutality.
I wish I could say it’s only hell-raising old fogies frolicking in feces, but sadly the youth also play with slosh ploppies. Hormonally challenged youngsters in Maine are jitterbugging away on a dance floor of goat droppings. Kelly Jo the softball coach knows how to stay hip with half-sprouts even when she's hazing them. In 2004 she took her team to a farm and had two of the girls do the “Sheep Shit Shuffle.” A year after their cakewalk through mammalian feces, the coach took her team back to the farm, but this time they had a choice. The girls could either ride a ram, eat sheep shit or stroll through a fecal field. Kelly Jo put a lump of post-digested animal snacks in each girl’s hand. I’m assuming this was for good luck. They took off their shoes and began promenading through a field of dreams and excrement. Kelly Jo was fired, which I think is outrageous. Those girls wanted to walk in shit. What other excuse is there for not riding a ram? Kelly Jo sued the school, insisting she was only fired because she’s a lesbian, which makes sense when you follow the numbers. We have a nation bursting with fecal fetish coaches, but how many lesbian PE teachers are there? Can you even count them on one hand? I thought not.
It looks as though this is the age of excrement. Kids are dancing in shit while listening to auditory bowel spasms they call “music.” They’re also huffing feces to get high. Permit me to sound like a dusty old fuck-stain for one moment, but when I was an adolescent I didn’t need to puff on a brown spliff to get wasted. Like all healthy teens, I drank and did drugs. Some things never change, but before I incriminate myself further, let’s get back to the matter at hand. Even though Jenkem came out a few years before bath salts flourished, I believe it’s still popular with kids. This assumption is based on a sound logical principal - kids are shitty, therefore they puff on shit. Many skeptics believe the process of plopping ass pudding and piss in a bottle to expand your mind was nothing more than a prank dreamed up by some bored trickster. Whether or not it was real or a hoax is irrelevant. People will try anything as long as you say it with a straight face and use three syllable words. Even if it was a joke, I’m sure many people inhaled shit winds after the word got out. If I were to say that cutting your forehead open and filling the wound with rabid dog puss had psychotropic effects and a hundred people read it, I think roughly half of them would try it. Not that they should. That would be terrible and nobody would benefit. Now that I’ve made a negative exclamation absolving me from legal responsibility, I’d like to add that if anyone out there does try it I would appreciate them recording the act and sending me the video so I can post it online and laugh at their stupidity.
For anyone out there thinking they can live a cleaner existence by not dancing in feces or going near cloudy syringes, think again. Airplanes are shitting on the world as we speak. One neighborhood in Indianapolis was a dumping ground for metal Pterodactyls. The FAA said this was due to birds, not planes. I’m willing to believe them. It’s not like the FAA would have a biased interest in denying the possibility of planes dumping red-speckled shit bombs on unsuspecting residents. In Snyder, NY brownish yellow goo fell from the sky. This happened during the winter season, so most of the houses were adorned in seasonal shitcicles. Sidewalks as well as the sides of houses were also covered. The FAA again denied the possibility of airplane dumping, but this time they weren’t alone. Some woman who owns a house on the street said this has happened to her before. She claimed it’s actually fast food eating seagulls that shit on the residents. Apparently, seagulls can feast on whale vomit for days without incident, but a couple of french fries turn them into flying turd bombers. Incidentally, I’m going to start dumpster tipping at burger joints in this state’s coastal regions.
Birds, metal or otherwise, aren’t solely responsible for raining shit down upon our already crappy lives. Honeybee feces was responsible for yellow rain that afflicted Southeast Asia in the 1980s. Symptoms of infection included bloody vomit, bloody diarrhea, rashes, blisters and even death in some cases. Initially, the US government thought it was caused by Soviet chemical weapons, but analysis of the yellow rain turned their faces red. One government official refused to speak with reporters, another said they had not read the study and another laughed it off as a joke. Among the more technical data collected on the yellow rain, the fact that pollen was detected in all the samples proved bees are just as menacing as communists, if not more menacing.
An excremental upset can come just as easily from below as above. Sometimes our streets have a little too much to drink and have to vomit the excess. One of society’s greatest wonders is a busted manhole and the resulting sewage geyser. Why go to Yellowstone Park when you can wait for an aging sewer system to malfunction? There’s nothing quite like scat shooting in the air to scatter the homeless and make way for street sweeping. I know when I see the the ground belching a stream of shit I can’t help but feel awed by the efficient complexities of our modern world.
Given the feces in the air and under our feet, it’s not a stretch to think a person would want to ensconce themselves in an airtight bubble and escape this shitty planet. Unfortunately, you don’t have to visit Kabul to get covered in dung. Demodex folliculorum and D. brevis, commonly referred to as “eyelash mites,” have set up a colony around your eyes. Like all lifeforms, they have waste to expel. Unlike most lifeforms, many mites aren’t able to discharge their feces while alive, so it doesn’t leave their body until after they die. In fact, feces from rotting mites has been linked to rosacea. It builds up in the pores, literally making people shit-faced. While you may be safely removed from the external excrement of the world, your fecal colored lenses are darkening with each passing moment. Every time you blink you’re batting mite feces into the air you breathe. To make matters worse, the oxygen and mite shit cocktail you just inhaled won’t even get you high, so it was all for nothing.
If there is no escape, we appear to be trapped on a ball of rotating crap. We live in a world with shit that swims in our water and soda alike. It’s a planet of fecal obsessed dieters and European shit porn where people defecate in dressing rooms and the British don’t wash their hands as often as they should. Instead of recoiling at our toilet of an existence, maybe we should accept it. Maybe shit was the way it was meant to be. Fecal transplants cure certain colon infections by pressing rewind during the shit scene, so who’s to say a lump of excrement doesn’t have it’s place in life. If we’re all crapped out of a woman’s vagina and we’re all made in the Lord’s image, perhaps there’s a heavenly, omnipotent shit monster above us, looking down on all of his shit children and nodding in approval. Or maybe there is no benevolent shit god and we’re all just pieces of shit circling through space on a shit ball’s cosmic journey. In either scenario, shit is the only constant, therefore shit is the only thing we can trust. If you feel unsure about your life or where you’re headed in this chaotic sewer we call a universe, try asking yourself one question:
“Have I done everything possible to be a shitty person?”
From where I’m sitting you have. So have I. We should all be proud of ourselves.
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