I didn’t use a bathroom today. Just held it all in. That’s a lot of unflushed water and unused toilet paper. At midnight, I will rush down to the creek behind my apartment and blast the built-up toxins from my body into the water. The fish will filter my waste through their gills, converting it into drinkable water, and I will clean my buttocks with a local rabbit. That rabbit will hop through the forest, pollinating flowers and trees as he or she goes along.
Soon, a small child will smell a flower that bloomed because of me, and deer miles downstream will drink from the creek and be refreshed by my body’s recycled garbage.
That’s how I contributed to The Solution.
What did you do for Mother Earth today?
Ten Things Only People Who Had A Wart On The Side Of Their Left Foot In The Early ’00s Will Understand
1. Mac’n’cheese is the best. Because of what you have lived through, no one will ever understand this quite the way you do!
2. Bacon. Right? LOL!
3. You like the word ‘awesomesauce,’ you call anything without gluten ‘G-free,’ and you greet people by saying ‘Wasabi, kemosabe?’ If you agree with any of the previous sentence, you did not really have a wart on the side of your left foot in the early ’00s. You fell into a trap laid by the superior intellect only a person that had a wart on the left side of their foot in the early ’00s could possess.
4. You have a friend that tried to get a wart just like yours, but during his quest, he ended up getting his foot chomped off by an alligator. And then his entire leg. Followed by his midsection, heart, and head. You watched the entire thing happen, but didn’t do anything, because, well, wart.
5. You enjoy reading lists about warts and wart-related issues.
6. You have taken an online quiz about what city you should really live in, but still live in the city you’ve always lived in.
7. You become irritated when people post lists about having a wart on the bottom of their right foot in the ’90s. Or worse yet, the army of aged husks from the ’60s that yap on and on about how great sac warts were back then. You won’t hear it. These people all suck, because they have not experienced what you have. Having a wart on the side of your left foot in the early ’00s was the quintessential wart-having experience, and anyone that says otherwise has warts that are dumb, and also very, very stupid.
8. You have purchased anti-wart cream.
9. You have shamed, belittled, and badgered anyone who doesn’t believe warts are beautiful, because, after having a wart on your left foot, YOUR opinion is the correct one, and if someone doesn’t share your perception of beauty, they are a body-shaming bully.
10. Overweight people with warts are disgusting.
Sometimes, when you haven’t bought groceries for a long period of time, you are forced to make do with what you have on hand in your pantry. I’ve created many exotic dishes this way—there was one time I only had four pounds of fresh mangoes, a cup of brown sugar, two sticks of celery, a pile of cranberries, a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil, two yellow onions, a few ounces of apple cider vinegar, a half cup of minced ginger, three garlic cloves, a pinch of salt, and some love. From this, I was somehow able to craft a batch of what I named Third World Cranberry Mango Chutney, for that is how I imagine suffering people cook. They make what they can, and then create folk music on garbage can lids. After that I pan-seared a twelve ounce steak in some butter and poured the chutney over it. I took one bite and threw everything away, because I realized that I do not like chutney, and the taste had ruined the steak.
So, the other day, I found myself with literally nothing but some very old grape jelly, and half a can of black beans. I put those beans in a pan, then added the jelly and let it simmer for five minutes.
I named the dish Jelly Beans. They did not taste good.
American ‘cheese’ is to the coagulated milk world as hot dogs are to the meat world. But what the hell do I know, I’m just a guy that wipes too hard.
I’ve been locked into a Cubist epoch for the past seven days. At the outset, I was extremely prolific, producing two paintings over the course of two days. Since last Friday, however, I have been toiling away on what I have decided must be the last of my Cubist works.
A floccinaucinihilipilificator might suggest this piece belongs in a dumpster behind an orphanage.
But it doesn’t. It is pulchritudinous. And sublime. And very, very lumpy.
Here is my ‘Late Cubism’ masterpiece, entitled Self Portrait, or also, The Bulge.