A Trilogy of Poop

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The Trilogy of Poop

Larry: God. If you are up there, please do something about what’s going on. Everything on Earth is like one big shit show!

God: Lawrence. I can hear you.

Larry: Is it really you?! Oh my God! Oh, sorry about that.

God: I’ve heard your prayers and I have a solution.

Larry: That’s wonderful, God! Please, save us!

God: I have created a new being for your situation.

Larry: Well, it’s our situation, but go ahead.

God: I’d like to introduce you to, Imodium Woman!

Imodium Woman: Hi!

God: She will help you with your shit show.

IW: Has diarrhea got you in the dumps? Just call on me! I’m Imodium Woman!

Larry: Imodium woman? No, God. It’s a metaphor. There’s not really any shit..

IW: And meet my sidekick, Banana Boy!

Banana Boy: Take that! Yaaa! Some extra starch in your diet should help the shit show!

Larry: God!! This isn’t going to help us! There’s been a misunderstanding!!

God: Listen, Larry. I have a pretty healthy dusting of Autism. You specifically asked for help with your shit show.

Larry: It’s OUR shit, for fucks sakes, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were autistic!

God: Goodbye, Larry…

Larry: NO!!!

BB: Yaaa! A banana a day keeps the runs away!

Larry: Aww, shut up, Banana Boy…


My opinions are not my own. I simply listen to everybody else espouse opinions, and then I repeat them loudly. I find myself nodding wildly, though I don’t know why. I have no control in the matter. It’s what I do when I’m out there.

When I am in, I lose moral direction. I look at my bed and wonder if it’s an acceptable place to have an existential crisis. The perfect location for a lack of opinion. A world where questions run amok.

Like, “Do I cry a lot? Do I find small boys simultaneously attractive and worthy of death? Do I know how to juggle bowling pins? No to all. I guess I can cross “clown” off the list. Will I ever find out who I am?”

Or, “How many fingers can I insert into my rectum? I wonder if I can get that microphone up my butt? What is the elasticity of my anus?”

Or, “Who is funding all of the protests? And how do I get some of that funding? Will the Syrian refugees I invited over be upset when they discover I too am homeless?”

Or, “Is there other things I can get kale in? Will they find something better than kale? Will I ever find the perfect gluten free cookie?

The questions are endless. The answers elusive. Rising out of bed is difficult. Showering is even harder. But I need to get out there. And resist. I’m not quite sure what I am resisting, but I’m sure someone will say something that I can cling to. Something I can repeat. Forcefully. Like a parrot.

My opinions are not my own.


Hello. I’m the most interesting man in the world. I’m here to tell you, saying that all muslims are terrorists is wrong… I’m sorry. Who wrote this shit?


Saying that all muslims are NOT terrorists is also wrong.

Pablo, please…

I mean, there are a few, yeah? There are also a few Christian terrorists. There’s probably even a Buddhist terrorist. With a bomb strapped to his humongous belly.

Can you just read the copy verbatim, please.

What you need to say is religions are wrong. All of them. Ban the religions.


We are killing each other, man! Over bullshit!

We are wasting valuable time, Pablo. Can we please continue?

Fine…(pinche puto)… Hello. This is the stupidest shit in the world.



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