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I Like To Keep My Personal Opinions And Beliefs Off Of The Internet

*caution: the following post mentions bodily functions. why? i don’t know. perhaps they are being used symbolically as a way to say that we all need to find some sort of common denominator in these divided times. or they’re a metaphor shining light on the crumbling infrastructure of…..something. but maybe, just maybe, if you highlight every fourth letter of this post, it will reveal a hidden message.

We all have annoying Facebook friends that shellac us with political posts, gym selfies, and pics of their butt-ugly babies—nothing new to talk about there.

Personally, I like to stay away from ‘putting myself out there’ on the internet. I have boundaries. I don’t need people to know everything about me.

When it comes to social media, my movements are few and far between. Every now and then, I guess, I’ll crowdsource a question that seems important to me. Like lately, for instance, I’ve had this thing going on with my bowels. Without getting too deep into the problem, here’s the gist: I will go about three days without defecating, and then BOOYA—like a warm and cold front colliding, a frenzied twelve hour period ensues in which a torrential downpour produces up to twenty four inches of excrement (to put that in scale: one inch of excrement is equivalent to 36 inches of snow, and 72 inches of rain). If someone knows what would cause this, by all means, pipe up. Yes, you there. What’s that? Who am I going to vote for in the upcoming election? Your mom. Did you not just hear, a moment ago, that I prefer not to share those things on the internet?

Anyways, after this purge, my intestines will lay dormant for another 72 hours. Sure, they’ll bubble, they’ll gurgle, and sometimes even squeak, but there will be absolutely no productive action. Nada. Pardon? Where do I stand on people using the pubic bathroom that they identify with? I’m not going to comment on that, but if I happen to be in one of my violent defecation cycles and a women’s restroom is the only one available, let’s just say I’m going to start feeling very womanish for a brief period of time. I’m not going to sit over here and apologize if some little girl has to listen to that.

This brings us to the color of my pee. For example, I drink a lot of water, so normally my urine is pretty clear, like a mountain creek, or saran wrap. In the morning though, it’s more yellow, probably because I am not able to take in as much water while I am asleep, which results in a deeper urinary shade. Hmmm? Repeat that please. Ah yes, the Confederate flag and free speech. This is similar to the restroom situation above. If I were in dire need of bath tissue and a Confederate flag were the only thing lying around, I suppose I would use it to wipe. I would use any flag to clean myself if that was all that was available.

So back to my pee. Sometimes I have trouble going, and OH GOD WHAT NOW? Fine. You want me to share something personal? Here goes. I’m going to hand you a filthy, dirty secret. I try to use public bathrooms as much as possible. I do. It’s gross, and it’s part of my life. It slashes my toilet paper budget, and if the thing clogs, hey, not my problem. Some teenager named Ashton or Aiden or Sean’Trell gets to clean it up, and it’ll probably learn some sort of valuable life lesson in the process, like the fact that a guy with a spinach-rich diet who only poops every three days will produce thick tubes of green feces capable of clogging a jet-flush public toilet. That’s something you just don’t learn sitting in a government-funded classroom. There. I said something about the government. Now I suppose you want me to click ‘love’ on the picture of your fat, stupid baby. Not gonna happen.

And by the way, sometimes, when I’m in the public restroom, I’ll unwind a little extra toilet paper and take it home with me. Is that a crime? It is a public bathroom. The things inside belong to the public. I am part of the public. Now you probably think I’m some uber-liberal Hillary supporter. Yes, I’m going to vote for her, provided she delivers a solution to my mysterious bowel thing. If Trump can figure it out, then I’m in his corner. Maybe I’ll be in the Dollar Tree bathroom one day and a friendly woman dressed like a man will recognize my symptoms and help me out. There’s no way of knowing.

I Changed My Facebook Profile Pic To The French Flag, And Things Are Getting Better Already

As you’ve probably noticed, my Facebook profile picture now has a vague blue, white and red shade over it. Why? Well, it’s just one of the many things I’m doing that is helping heal the world. Like back in June, when I saw that everyone was changing their profile pics to rainbows. I thought it was because summer was starting, and I also like rainbows, so I did it too. Turns out it was for gay marriage. Whoops. It was a happy accident, though. It made me look ultra progressive and accepting.

This time around, I was prepared. I knew the purpose behind this massively popular act, and I noticed that everyone else who did it got like, a shitload of ‘likes.’ No brainer.

What’s that? You’re attending a candle light vigil and you want me to come along? Hmmm. Where is it? St. John’s Lutheran Church? Is that the one by the McDonald’s? It’s not. Hmmm. The thing is, that’s kind of out of my way, and I really wanted to go to McDonald’s. Besides, I already changed my profile pic for France. They know I got their back.

There will be cookies and punch at the vigil, you say? I really wanted more of a meal. How about this: while I’m at McDonald’s, I’ll order extra French fries. I’ll say the ‘French’ part really loud, and see if I can get a chant going. No I won’t, I’m shy. Anyways, remember how silly it was when we were mad at France, and people were trying to call those things Freedom Fries? I think all those French flags on Facebook have buried that hatchet once and for all.

I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. You’re assembling care packages for the injured victims? When? Ooooo, that’s not going to work for me. My favorite um…..show is on at that time. What are the chances. Tell you what, write out the address for my Facebook profile on a piece of paper, make copies, and drop one into every package. Then they can go to my page and see that I have changed my picture to the French Flag. Well, I’m still the main focus of the picture, but the colors kind of distort the image and make me look really cool. I know seeing a stranger overlaid with the American flag would make me happy, sort of, I guess.

Did I hear that correctly? You’re accepting monetary donations? Um, I would, but I don’t uh, have any cash on me. Yeah, no cash. Sorry. What’s that? I can go online and donate with a debit or credit card? Shit. I mean yeah, I’ll totally do that later.

Look, before you toss out any more invites requiring me to go places or do things for France, let me point out again that I changed my Facebook profile picture to the French Flag. No further action needed. See? Holy crap! Ten ‘likes’ already! I never crack double digits. YES!!! Peace on Earth, here we come.

Did you just call me a sheep? Why? Because I blindly follow trends? Do sheep support France? Didn’t think so. BAAA. Excuse me, I coughed. BAAAAAA. BAAAAAAAAAA. Sorry, there’s something tickling my throat.

BAAAAAAAA. BAAAAAAAAA. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

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