Convoluted Transference
“It reminds me of when a little kid takes a shit and wants his parents to see how big it is.”
Okay. Well, first of all, everybody shits.
And it’s only very minorly to do with me that people make money off of others paying to absorb the product, paying to hear what others have to slobber over its hue, solidity. There’s plenty of people who’ll argue for hours over its nose and what comprises its complex layers. I know cuz I’m there with them; all our snouts are in the bowl, huffing. It’s not my fault that it makes our brains swim upon a lurid sniff which brightens the leaves and has us excited to get to work.
It’s smeared all over your walls! You fished your paw into the toilet there with me——yes, it’s an excellent specimen.
I can’t help to digest and excrete and carry it dripping to those with piqued eyes——I like them solid or soft. No, no, I won’t eat it.
But you can go on flushing yours down; I don’t care if my parents look at me funny.
The biggest shitters have the slimmest figure.