Contemplated sideways…The hounds of hectic thought, kept me up all night. Slanting and aside…Came accompanied with sky? Why so blue? Tied together with…What makes dragon’s blood? And, the myth of Elvis!
If my mind were a jukebox…It would only play my favorite song.
‘Where have all the heroes gone?’
I worked this, kink in my mind’s wagon, out years ago. Such as agreeing to live like a Tilt-A-Whirl.
Spinning in the same circle. But forever finding a new way to enjoy the thrill!
We got rock stars in the White House
All our pop stars look like porn
All my heroes hit the highway
They don’t hang out here no more
“Oh, no, just smells like the bottom of my dead grandfather’s foot in there. Maybe one of the cats are sick?”
What did I get out of that exchange?
My previous partner did not shit! Not once in our 6 years of warranted marital miscue.
“Honey, have you been to the bathroom this morning? Or, anytime within the last 24 hours?”
Full tilt asshole response:
No, why? Are you saying, my shit stinks? I shit roses compared to the shit you’ve put me through!
Thoughts on exchange number two?
After almost 12 years of living on a carnival ride of misfit union; my soon to be ex did indeed shit…she just shit roses and butterflies and rainbows!
Laid up for approximately, 13 days, 5 hours, 23 minutes and 2 seconds, I’ve had nothing but full metal constipation on my hands.
What happens when you mix the stomach flu with prescribed pain relievers? Not a whole hell of a lot.
Fecal matters and shit happens. Let’s face it. The subject carries more of an X rating then Rosanne Barr in a thong.
Like most I enjoy immensely…a good healthy bowel movement. Yet, it is don’t ask, don’t tell territory.
“What’s wrong with Ruth?”
Oh, nothing that a an enema, a lobotomy and a healthy kick in the ass wouldn’t fix..my now loving and honest shitter partner would say.
Therefore, a list must surface from the last honest pleasure seeker in pooping, namely myself!
What is truly gross about ourselves?
1. Much as a bowel movement moves us spiritually, physically and financially. We despise the fact we have to shit. As a nation, we must come out of the shithouse doorway with smiles and accolades for ourselves.
Little side note:
Much as we are closeted about our toileting habits. We love to turn around and look down. We take pleasure in viewing just how much we have accomplished after one giant cup of coffee, a morning read and a cigarette.
2. Hair! Here, there, everywhere a hair. While posing for the new life like image of the famous ‘Thinker’ I had nothing but swirls of free spirited strange obsessive ideas in my cozy made for one bathroom.
My hair freaks me out. It’s sticks to the walls by one lone strand, it adheres to the drain in the shower with the strength of ten butch women holding on to a feminine lesbian in work boots.
3. Spit! Spit on the sink walls. Behind the toilet seat. On the prescription bottle of Ativan taken for O.C.D. Spit in an array of colors. Red from the disgusting XX Cinnamon flavored Close Up the spouse likes to buy and I choose to not argue about. Blue from the dislodged Tylenol PM pill that landed in the water dish left out for the cats. Yellow? Where the fuck did the yellow come from?
4. Dust spiders and sock lint on the towels and ceiling. A human being produces approximately enough lint and dust to fill Fenway Park over the course of their lifetime.
5. Toenail clippings not removed from the toe nail removal device. Better yet, toe nail clippings that have fallen from said device and now lay in the confines of the vanity. Mating and producing more clippings.
We are a disgusting lot. I get it. Why talk about it?
My grandmother Ruth once told me a very good piece of advice:
Eat an apple sometime while you’re having sex. You’ll enjoy the experience much more than usually and than you can count on a good shit in the morning. And, a good morning shit leads to a happy and healthy life!
Until next time, have a happy and productive visit to the most important room in the house!
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts