Beer Shits

Drinking a beer while taking a shit is wonderful. Consuming as you expel, what could be better? Feel good and only feeling better. I find my life at a current standstill. Things are flying by at extraordinary speed but I’ve seemed to temporarily shut down. I can only crawl if I want to keep moving but I would rather sit for a bit. Enjoy the moment and savor my shit with my fresh beer.

I’m tired and only 20. But I’ve always been tired. Maybe it’s due to my loud snoring, at least that’s what some people tell me. It could be apnea but who really knows. I just always want to sleep, sit back comfortable and warm and just let all the days roll by. That’s a sin in our time though, to not be a busy DO-er. To not DO is an indication of a bad individual and to be one who enjoys drinking is even worse. I can understand DO-ing to survive or just get by, people need to be fed but there seems to be a worship of this “DO” that I’ve seemed to miss. Perhaps there was some sort of meeting I was never invited to. Maybe I was too hung-over that day and slept through it, who knows?

I just don’t have an ambitious bit in me. And cheers to those who are ambitious, there’s nothing wrong with DO-ing. In fact many people I care about are good DO-ers. It’s just all that DO-ing seems so silly to me. It’s a game I have no interest playing. I would rather lie in bed and masturbate. It seems to make me feel better.

I guess I’m a lazy sort of guy. Being busy and moving around all day makes me nervous and gives me anxieties, there’s something wrong with such intensely busy lives. Maybe I’m defective. I’m like some kind of lazy bee who doesn’t want to cooperate and work with his hive. He would rather wake up late and instead of collecting pollen just zip around and shit on all the bright flowers. I’d be some doofy fucking bee and all of the bee-ciety would point and either hate or mock me: “Look at that asshole! Just a drain on us all!” or “What a doofy fuck! Look at him shitting on all those flowers!” I wonder if such a bee ever existed. I’d enjoy watching him at his work.

Actually, I’ve got some DO-ing I should be getting at but I’ll let it go for now. I’ll have another beer instead. I’ve got two left from the pack so I’ll get to those DO-ings later. It’ll be rushed and half-assed of course. But that’s me, how I’ve always been. I don’t totally fuck-off, I don’t have the balls for that. Instead, I do what I have to or at least what’s expected to not deal with the repercussions. But at the end of the day, when no one’s around and not expecting anything, I always end up on the toilet, shitting and drinking my beer.

This sort of life, this clean-cut, pre-fabricated, parentally expected, apparently busy, bleach-whitened teeth, work till you die existence doesn’t make me particularly happy. I don’t want work to be the cause of my death. I evade work whenever I can. I find that to be the healthier choice. Why DO today what I can consider DO-ing tomorrow? It’s not that working is so awful, it’s only that being drunk or asleep is better. I could go out and DO or lay in bed naked and finish my beers. I’ve got Buds today and since I can’t reach my clothes I’m not going to move for awhile, at least until my bladder is nice and full and needs to expel some more.

I must confess that I love good food and often the expensive sort, steaks, lobster, Italian cuisine, what have you. But other than that and drinking, which is never cheap, I don’t care for the big house, fancy car (I know nothing of cars) and all the things that are supposed to go in these objects. George Carlin went off about STUFF and it’s stupidity. He’s right, all life becomes is a pathetic attempt of finding a place to put all your insignificant STUFF. I don’t care for STUFF like the way most people do. If you have some void to fill and food or sex or alcohol isn’t enough then I suppose you should go on ahead and get all that STUFF. There’s nothing wrong with obsessive material hunger. In fact, its what drives our whole culture, the cornerstone of our economy. Our wellbeing is rooted on that sweet, sweet vice ENVY. I find myself suffering of sloth and gluttony so who am I to talk. Those sins aren’t nearly as productive, if only I had a little more greed in me too, then I could be DO-ing something worthwhile. The only problem is that I’m currently too busy drinking a beer, I can’t be bothered with such practical matters right now. The word itself, “practical” or its cousin “pragmatic,” makes me nervous and hurts my head.

In the end I suppose we’re all fucked up anyway. The only difference is that too many don’t realize it. So many try to burry those things called vices, those deadly sins that we don’t want our fellow mouth-breathing companions to find out about. “Know thyself,” something left dusting over in the corner, forgotten, not valued for our very important, busy, DO-filled contemporary lives. There’s nothing to KNOW, only things to be DONE! All these people frantically running, DO-ing as fast as their little bodies can move so no one can ever get a good glimpse of them bare and still.

Maybe they’re right. What if there is something to that all important, soul-consuming resume. A piece of paper that lets you know everything you should about me. “Yes, that’s me! I’m all there, all my DO-ings. Aren’t I just so amazing!” All that phony bullshit, I should just send potential employers a piece of my shit. It’s certainly truer to me. “Look and see what my body made. That particular odor you’re whiffing is my own fresh brand. I hope you see and smell my potential! Can I get the job?” At least my piece of shit is authentic, I’ll even let you DNA test it to be sure its mine (if that can be done with shit). Nothing fake there, no BULLSHIT! It’s all me and all I have to give. I’ll even give you a fresh one, right after I finish this beer.