In the spirit of James Joyce’s quasi-mythological and somewhat stream of consciousness novel, Ulysses, I give you…
“Mattlysses: Thoughts While Sitting on the Toilet at 2:47 A.M.”
Holy Cow, my stomach hurts. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten that taco or drank that last Mickey’s Malt Liquor so late.
I haven’t felt this bad since years ago when I woke up the day after I had drunken sex with that chick with the birthmark shaped liked the boot heel of Missouri on her ass, and a mustache that said, “Pet Me!!”
Oh man!! C’mon, bowels…Don’t just lay there all gassy n’shit. Let’s feel some movement. I’m very tired and want to go back to bed.
Oh what’s this? Wow. Merle Haggard is dying and Chaz Bono wants to be, “The Bachelor.” How does anyone not take a shit without reading, The Globe? I love it.
And speaking of taking a shit…
“IT WOULD BE NICE TO BE DOING SO, RATHER THAN JUST SITTING HERE GETTING PORCELAIN IMPRINTS ON MY ASS!!”
Was that a spider?
Oh hell…I have to remember that after my colon evacuates its contents, IF IT EVER DOES, I need to get the coffee ready to brew for the morning, which is technically already fucking here.
God forbid that I don’t have the coffee ready for Schmoop. And God forbid on my behalf that I forget, as I wouldn’t want forgetting to put eight cups of water and five scoops of ground Arabica beans into said coffee maker to be the reason that I don’t get laid this weekend.
Jesus Christ…Oooooo. Oh boy here she comes…I feel some rumblings.
Ahhhhhhhhh. Ewwwwwwww….Man, it was like it all rushed out…as if I was pissing from my ass. Who does that? I’ll tell ya who!!
An idiot who can’t lay off those God Damn energy drinks, like me. Aside from the caffeine, those bottles full of a month’s worth of B Vitamins turn any type of food into a frothy chocolate milkshake. Oh man…
Oh dear God…that is just wrong. Holy Cow, I only had a taco and drank a couple of beers, what the hell is still coming out of me, my freakin’ soul!?
Why is the cat pawing at the bathroom door. It can’t be as though she is drawn to the smell in here, unless she smells death and wants to see me before I die.
Fuck…it IS a spider…Ha…Well it’s a dead spider now. Even while on the shitter, arachnids shouldn’t mess with me.
Ahhhhhhhh….I feel better. No pain, no gain, and man when it’s all done, it’s better than sex. Huh? I find shitting better than sex?
That’s just fucked up. Eh…
I guess it’s because of that, “the pleasure given, is equal to the pleasure received, school of thought.”
I guess my body and I work in harmony.
I abuse it. It abuses me. And in the end…we both feel better.
Cheers!!
Matt-Man
email: neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter: @mattmaniws
“Mattlysses: Thoughts While Sitting on the Toilet at 2:47 A.M.”Holy Cow, my stomach hurts. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten that taco or drank that last Mickey’s Malt Liquor so late.
I haven’t felt this bad since years ago when I woke up the day after I had drunken sex with that chick with the birthmark shaped liked the boot heel of Missouri on her ass, and a mustache that said, “Pet Me!!”
Oh man!! C’mon, bowels…Don’t just lay there all gassy n’shit. Let’s feel some movement. I’m very tired and want to go back to bed.
Oh what’s this? Wow. Merle Haggard is dying and Chaz Bono wants to be, “The Bachelor.” How does anyone not take a shit without reading, The Globe? I love it.
And speaking of taking a shit…
“IT WOULD BE NICE TO BE DOING SO, RATHER THAN JUST SITTING HERE GETTING PORCELAIN IMPRINTS ON MY ASS!!”
Was that a spider?
Oh hell…I have to remember that after my colon evacuates its contents, IF IT EVER DOES, I need to get the coffee ready to brew for the morning, which is technically already fucking here.
God forbid that I don’t have the coffee ready for Schmoop. And God forbid on my behalf that I forget, as I wouldn’t want forgetting to put eight cups of water and five scoops of ground Arabica beans into said coffee maker to be the reason that I don’t get laid this weekend.
Jesus Christ…Oooooo. Oh boy here she comes…I feel some rumblings.
Ahhhhhhhhh. Ewwwwwwww….Man, it was like it all rushed out…as if I was pissing from my ass. Who does that? I’ll tell ya who!!
An idiot who can’t lay off those God Damn energy drinks, like me. Aside from the caffeine, those bottles full of a month’s worth of B Vitamins turn any type of food into a frothy chocolate milkshake. Oh man…
Oh dear God…that is just wrong. Holy Cow, I only had a taco and drank a couple of beers, what the hell is still coming out of me, my freakin’ soul!?
Why is the cat pawing at the bathroom door. It can’t be as though she is drawn to the smell in here, unless she smells death and wants to see me before I die.
Fuck…it IS a spider…Ha…Well it’s a dead spider now. Even while on the shitter, arachnids shouldn’t mess with me.
Ahhhhhhhh….I feel better. No pain, no gain, and man when it’s all done, it’s better than sex. Huh? I find shitting better than sex?
That’s just fucked up. Eh…
I guess it’s because of that, “the pleasure given, is equal to the pleasure received, school of thought.”
I guess my body and I work in harmony.
I abuse it. It abuses me. And in the end…we both feel better.
Cheers!!
Matt-Man
email: neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter: @mattmaniws
No comments:
Post a Comment