I saw where a friend of mine posted on Facebook the other day the explicit and
infinitesimal details of his morning bowel movement. It was graphic, so much so
that the Motion Picture Association would never have allowed it anywhere near a
theater screen. He has a gift. If the written word is capable of making
making an experience 4-D to the reader, this would be your guy.
Repulsive? Yeah, I'd say so. Did I really need to know his bout with
constipation ended with him birthing a grain silo? Not now, not ever. But tell
me this.
Was it more interesting than knowing you and your morning
coffee were there to greet another day? Without a doubt. Would I rather have
him tell me that he feared the Green movement would be protesting at his house,
such was the raping of the rain forest in order for his paperwork to be complete, or
have you reassure me, yet again, that you still hate Mondays?
In
closing, I admit I'm still fond, at nearly fifty years old, of having my teenage
boys tell me "goodnight" before they turn in for the evening. You? Not so
much.
Oh, I almost forgot. It's hump day.
