Why I’m a Turd
“I don’t remember sending myself an email.” That’s probably what you’re mushy turd brain is thinking right now. You see, I’m in a semi functional sleep state right now. I woke myself up with a boisterous Bronx cheer and in my state of subconscious meandering, I figured writing an email to future me may be the best way to address some of those issues I’ve been neglecting during my waking hours. I will now present you with a list of what’s really buggin me, and what we can do to fix it, or at least make it more…How shall I say…Gorm(combination of good, warm and normal. Taxes and licensing fees apply. Turd conjuring and other such said practices are limited to, but not socially exempt from buckle end whippings, curb kicking, or putting your nose against the wall.)
- Gangly and unwarranted length of limbs. I find my body has delusions of grandeur that my psychic core has labeled “innocuous.” Be that as it may, I’d like to recommend a cutting edge procedure known as bone shorteningizing. During this intricate and barbaric operation, the patient must disguise himself as a Cold Steel demonstration dummy, and bait CEO and Quality Assurance Tester, Lynn C. Thompson into hacking away at the limbs with the Icelandic Whale Cleaver. This plan is full proof, as well as fool proof.
- Female attractant repulsion. Nature is full of creative ways mammals and reptiles have adapted to increase mate salivation. The amphibians, with lack luster displays and rude lizard manners, have let their reputation as the animal kingdom’s most feared and respected dode slangers fall by the wayside. It is in this instance that our behavior has become like that of the salamander’s. Like a limp dork, we are both impressive and disappointing simultaneously. We must return to our primal state. Compromise societal regs and shed our skin to become something different…Something a little like…A renegade.
- Fecal personality resemblance. Without a doubt, this is the most disconcerting tribulation that I, you, we, are confronting in America today. Alas, the atlas shows no lass, who can out last the last assless chaps of Atlantis. A remarkable remnant of the once great submerged city, these assless chaps signify both my affinity for assless apparel and the crippling condition of severe turd aquiescense within the circulatory system. You see, in the weld of assless chaps, sanitation is out the window and the window sill is covered in shit. So, I’m still working on this one. Feel like the solution is toilet something, toilet, in a toilet something…
As you can see, I’ve not only laid the pavement but also built solid ramps made from plywood propped up with bricks n’ stuff. I’m hopeful that you can do it. I mean really go after it. I mean never come close to attaining it. Let the light of this quote guide your soul as you drift through the living realm of the dead; “Bring not wealth, for the king is rich. Bring not drink, for the king is not thirsty. Bring thy self, and in they self, bring turd.”
James Taylor Edmondson