Inverted distortions
and wiping away the balls
Open your door!
Ricky wanted to drive with both doors open again.
My farts were beginning to get to him and he need the air changed as much as possible.
What the fuck did you eat?
Dear reader, it was lamb shank. Greasy delicious lamb shank.
This wouldn’t be the first time that I destroyed a relationship with my flatulence, but I was working on making this one the most glorious.
It’s day 14 and the weather stinks and only seems to be getting shittier.
I’m at war with my driver Ricky.
Well, My arsehole is.
For both dinner last night and lunch today I had lamb.
Lamb makes me fart.
A lot.
So many farts.
In fact, i fart all of the farts.
The quiet ones sneak into the cab and linger.
It wasn’t me!
(I always blame my farts on Ricky even though I KNOW it’s me)
No Jimmy! That was you. You farted.
No I didn’t. That must of been you.
Dear reader, you know this game, this who farted game. We all play it. It is the ultimate game of gaslighting.
Right?
You know these times where be double down and push all of our noxiousness onto someone else.
If you do this?
Congratulations, you’re a human.
And if you say that you don’t?
Congratulations, you’re a big fucking liar who’s so unselfaware that you may not even know that you have an asshole.
Forgive me while I pray for your laundry…
Ricky is a kind man, a moral man, but certainly not a patient one.
What the hell is this moron doing?
That’s a question I hear in traffic quite frequently.
My reply?
Yeah! He’s an asshole!
We reflect each others anger - two apes screaming and thumping chests.
It’s perfect. We begin by assuming the worse, assuming the attack.
That’s normal. That’s how our brains go.
Once we scream a bit, it’s time to wonder about the best.
Though at least 50% of the population are below average intelligence, how could this be functional? How could this animal be working brilliantly?
Most of the time we’re told to calm down, to fight that initial impulse to fight and blame and yell and wail.
But in reality?
The dogs bark at the doorbell,
A horse has gotta buck and kick.
And we apes?
We pound our chests and howl.
After that.
And only AFTER we dance that ancient dance does our reason kick in.
And I’m glad.
It’s fun to roar and beat our chests.
Invert the order and watch the change happen.
Which reminds me of a story I was telling Ricky whilst driving around.
Once, when I was like four, I peered between the toilet seat and the porcelain.
I saw something hanging down.
I thought It was a shit that didn’t want to fall.
I wiped and peaked a there it was still there hanging.
I had - so it seemed - a shit that wouldn’t go away.
I pushed and wiped and peeked and pushed and wiped and pushed and peeped again but it was still there.
Apparently?
You can’t wipe away your balls.
But me?
I was looking at them upside down and backwards.
And that inversion distorted my perception resulting in a chaffed arsehole.
Which I’m sure relates to the story that I’ve been trying to tell but right meow?
I’m tired, it’s late and tomorrow Ricky and I will be out on the road delivering the goods.