2am Thought

I am sitting on the toilet at 2am shitting and drinking a Bud out of a large plastic cup. Despite this situation, my only regret is that I already finished my stash of Jack. I am a man currently without whiskey and couldn’t be sadder because of it. But at least I have some beer. I do like the plastic cup. It can hold two whole beers and in addition it has little engravings of fish that go around the whole fucking thing! The sight of these fishies as I am getting myself progressively more intoxicated gladdens my semi-drunken soul.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I do some of my best thinking while on the toilet. I believe many of us do. Apparently some scholars believe that Martin Luther had his revelation of reforming the church while taking a shit. I’m not particularly religious but that has to strengthen my point: sitting in an isolated room while taking a shit provokes some profound ideas. And adding a bit of alcohol can’t hurt either.

There’s something that’s so wonderfully personal about taking a shit. It’s a moment where you can really be alone with yourself and get a good whiff of some of the nastiest stuff you’ll ever produce and you never cease to love it. I’ve always been fascinated with the process of shitting. No one ever minds there own creations but even the idea of someone else’s production disgusts us. We wipe our own fucking asses everyday (I hope) and come within millimeters of contact with our own shit. And I’m certain many of us have at one time or another accidentally got a little shit on one of our fingers. I always wonder how many thoroughly wash their hands after such an encounter.

Regardless, we share an intimate bond with our shit. Just like a child, it is something that our bodies have produced and expelled; we are fond and frequently proud of our shits. Although there are those shits you find yourself happy to flush down, usually the ones that ached your asshole to push-out or burningly erupted in an explosive furry. But even after the catastrophe and pain has subsided you still have to get a good glimpse of your bodily achievements. You stare down as you proceed to (hopefully) wipe your asshole. “I made this! This is something I have brought forth into this world. And God does it smell wonderful!” Even our foulest most rancid shits still satisfy our nostrils; the ones that smell as though there has been a dead rat decomposing in your colon. Sometimes you can even smell the heat from the more powerful gems.

Everyone loves their own shit. Despite how revolting it may be to everyone else. We’re all such shameful fucks.