Lazy, My favorites, Poop

PoopKarma

It started when I found an extra $20 in the ATM. What was I going to do with this newfound wealth. Considering this amount of money was just over 1/6th of what was in my bank account that I had just drawn from, this was exciting!

But I’m white and was raised moderately wealthy and haven’t struggled that hard and have a job and buy unnecessary glasses of beer and don’t live in darfur and feel lots of guilt all the time so instead of saving it or splurging on an expensive items I said “drinks are on me!” to the table I was sitting with, then quickly amended my statement by saying “one drink is on me for each of you” to the two people who I was sitting with. $20 doesn’t buy you a lot.

But that was nice, right?

I felt the right thing to do when life gives you good stuff – give it those around you. Doesn’t karma then repay you? How does karma work? Why didn’t I listen more when we were studying Buddhism in High School? How come when I type questions into a box that is yet to be published on the internet no one answers me?

I don’t think karma works.

I got on the subway at nearly 11pm and I could see that each car of the F-train that passed by was standing room only. This is rare at this time at night and I felt like my luck had run up for the night until the train stopped and in front of me stood a nearly empty car. Not only were there seats available, but nearly every end seat (the best seats because you can rest your head) was also available.

Oh.

This was why.

Because a man who had shit all over himself was on that car. The combination of my stuffy nose and blind excitement for my karmic repayment made sure that I was sitting and the doors were closing before I realized the error of my ways. No amount of Claritin-forced nose crusties could stop that stench from penetrating the depths of my brain’s disgusting scent area. The man who had pooped himself was now singing to himself.

The train stopped at the next stop. The mass exodus of other unfortunately unaware til too late train goes began. I stayed.

I wanted my karma to be real. I wanted the seat. I had a stuffy nose just enough that I could deal with the discomfort for the comfort.

 

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comedy, Gender, Horny, My favorites, Poop

I Have Fun: Or Poop and Kanye’s Dick

I always walk to the front of the subway station because there are fewer people in the front two cars then in the middle ones closer to the entrance. I like to sit when I travel and I don’t care if it means more walking. To me, walking and standing are interchangeable - it’s only once we allow another object to help out with our fight against gravity that we truly relax.

At the front of the Easter Parkway/Brooklyn Museum stop there was a pile of human poop. I guess the people who walk all the way to the front of the station are either people who are aficionados of laziness and efficiency or people who don’t have access to a toilet. I didn’t mind being grouped with these people, as long as it meant I would get a seat next to a wall of metal bars I could rest my head. I hung out by human poop. It was so worth it.

Not only was their a seat empty, but the entire car was devoid of humans. From Eastern Parkway all the way to Grand Army Plaza I was going to be alone in this moving cart of metal bars and slippery seats. This is how I would get my start as a member of the fantastical dance troupe that dances in the streets. I jungle gym’d harder than Kanye West Emmet Till’d. Then the train stopped at Grand Army Plaza. No one entered my car! I had 3 more minutes of intense breakdancing off a moving vehicle’s walls! The doors began to close!  But then a rich couple came running across the platform to join me last second. I had to sit.

Dancing>sitting>walking>standing.

Fun>comfort>movement>boring.

This is the problem with people and the fact that they can be offended.

I should have kept dancing – that was what was in my heart, but I couldn’t because I thought they might judge me poorly because of their suits and their non-smiles. I was on my way to a place full of suits and non-smiles and I was wearing jeans, a vest, and my ridiculous facial hair that make me look like a pedophile attempting to attract the children of pirates by reminding them of their fathers. My alma mater had invited me and some other burgeoning arts performers in New York City to mingle with other alums who had a lot more money in an attempt to convince the latter group to give donations in order to build our college’s arts center.

I was greeted by a tray of seared tuna topped with wasabi infused caviar on a daikon radish. I don’t usually eat fish, but it’s hard to say no to things that have infusion in them. The rest of the night was me not knowing what to say. See, I wanted to talk about how amazing it was that Kanye West put pictures of his penis on the internet, but I felt like people who worked in undescribed finance positions were not interested in that.

I enjoy fun, but I also feel it my duty to allow others to enjoy fun. If they want to do whatever, they are allowed to do whatever and if I don’t like it, I don’t like it. It’s seems simple and without nuance, but it has plenty of nuance. Don’t force upon someone your definition of fun, and walk away when someone tries to force upon you their definition of fun.

Why did they invite me to this event?

They know that the performance I do is just me complaining about how I couldn’t get laid in college, right?

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Lazy, Poop

My Mom Doesn’t Like My Blog

I took half of the shit that I wanted to take earlier today. I wish I could stay in my apartment waiting for the other half to fall out, but my internet isn’t installed yet and I can’t waste my day playing MarioKart 64. I can only waste my day playing internet flash games.

I have to buy things for the new apartment. I have to get some chores done. I have to do my laundry. All I can think about is how I have to poop. I want to poop. I’m not going to get to poop. I waited an uncomfortably long time on the toilet hoping that that last bit would squeak out, but it didn’t and now I’m afraid it’s gonna come screaming out of me in the middle of one of these chores.

So, I won’t do my chores.

I will simply wait around all day until I have my poop fall out. People get maternity leave, I’m taking a poop-vacation.

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Attention Whoring, Poop

Poop Not Death

I took a poop in my toilet for the first time in over a week. I’ve taken many poops in the past week (how do you think I stay so skinny?), but I’ve been relegated to restaurants and other public facilities. It was relaxing. My bathroom is still disgusting, but at least I can poop in it.

Being in public spaces to poop is the worst. I don’t trust any locks on bathroom doors, and will always search for the bathroom where I can stretch out my feet to keep the door closed while I poop. I really hate getting walked in on. It’s not because I’m embarrassed of how my body looks when I’m pooping – I’m embarrassed of the way my body looks all the time, pooping is not more vulnerable. It’s because I hate how no one wants to talk about the fact that they walked in on me. If I get back to table of people and one of those people saw me pooping recently, that’s what I want to talk about. Let’s not hide the fact that you saw me with my face scrunched up and my anus open. Let’s be open about it. It’s a funny conversation.

Really I just want to talk about myself, and I don’t care in what realm, but when someone walks in on my pooping, they no longer want to talk about me, and that makes me sad.

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