Life. Beauty. Nature.
Why are we here? What is our reason for being? Who are we?
Questions like these have plagued mankind since the beginning of time. Philosophers and thinkers spend lifetimes questioning our origins, postulating the unfathomable notions that define us as human beings.
Will my most insignificant actions have a direct impact on later events of my life. Can one misdeed, one infinitesimal wrongdoing send my life into an uncontrollable downward spiral of hopelessness and despair? Or are these things mere crackpot theories!? Do I have the choice to right myself, the ability to take the reins of my existence and steer that valiant steed of my humanity into a period of glory and greatness!?
I'm not a bad friend. When someone takes me into their confidence, they know that I will honor their secrets with the utmost respect and confidentiality. I will take their dark mysteries into the deepest caverns of my mind never to be shared with any other human soul... that is unless your shared information is uproariously hilarious, and that telling it to others will grant me popularity and renown.
My friend. Let's keep him nameless. Decided to tell me the story of how he once sharted at a party. Yes, he is such a sick fuck that he went to fart and ended up shitting his pants. He had neither the self control, maturity, or even muscular coordination to realize that his innocent rectal excretion would splatter the back of his underwear in an explosion of gooey excellence. Luckily for him, he was quick on his feet. He surreptitiously retired to the bathroom, threw away his boxers, and continued on as if nothing had ever happened. A true man of good breeding, if you ask me.
As it so happens... he told me, and I (being the opportunistic story teller that I am) shared it with everyone. Yes, he hated me for a couple of weeks, but in the end... he realized the hilarity behind his own night of mischief and tom foolery.
I'm not one to believe in karma. I believe that I choose my own path. I lay the foundation of my life and I alone am responsible for my ongoings in the universe! Apparently God had other plans.
'Twas a hot August night. I entered the party with the utmost confidence and cool. I was ready for an evening of mischief and shenanigans. My stomach was a bit unsettled due to my consumption of my mother's Clams Casino, two hours prior, yet this was nothing a few beers could not take care of.
As I strolled through the festive atmosphere, I could not help but be overwhelmed and intoxicated by the high jinks that surrounded me. The laughing , the drinking games, the merry times. In the midst of all this fantastical gaiety, fortune happened to smile upon me in the form of an angelic gentlewoman. Her charming smile took hold of me and I was immediately under her spell.
As we chatted and flirted I noticed that my stomach continued to be a hinderance. The Clams Casino continued to bubble and swirl in my bowels. I tried to push the feelings aside, but they continued to get more and more violent. The Uruk-Hai of Clams were storming the gates the Helms Deep that were my stomach! Banging on the walls, their swords clamoring against my continuously weakening innards, their Trebuchet's firing mercilessly against me. All hope was fading. I needed to fight back.
I sprung into action. I sneakily crept to a corner of the party in order to secretly expel a gaseous excretion. As the gas was passed, I instantaneously knew something was wrong. This was more than a mere break of wind.
My heart dropped to the floor as I felt warm and gooey liquid trickle down my leg. I was frozen in time as the blinding realization hit me that I had pooped myself. I was overtaken by the power of the shart! I was Augustus Gloop, drowning in Willy Wonka's forbidden river of chocolate, yet mine was no lake of cocoa goodness... it was the River Styx, carrying me to eternal damnation. I was beaten. Karma had caught up with me and busted its existential load all over my unsuspecting face. I had to do something. I dashed, nay barreled my way to the bathroom. I was not going to let a mere incidence of shitting my pants ruin what was otherwise a magical and enchanted evening.
My hands reached for the toilet paper, fumbled for the soap, grasped for the air freshener. Any supply that could cleanse and sanitize my shart-covered body was a valuable weapon to me. I ripped off my pants and examined them for battle scars, there was nothing, in that sense I was saved. Next came the step of cleaning up the "battlefield". I was quick and efficient, my head was calm and collected, and I went about the deed in the most distinguished of manner. The underwear unfortunately had to go. What was I to do!? I couldn't just bring the drawers back into the party and risk being exposed! My only option was the restroom garbage. I stuffed my feces filled boxers to the very bottom of the pail, with the audacious hope that they would never be discovered. I slipped my jeans back on and reentered the party commando.
Any other man would have gone home. He would've cashed in his chips and called it a night. He would've realized the horrifying significance of his situation, swallowed his pride and left. I am no normal man. I reencountered my lady love and continued just where I left off. I seduced her and coerced her into unspeakable acts that no (respectable) man who had just shat his pants would ever do.
I'm not proud of what I did. I'M ABSOLUTELY EXHILARATED. I laughed in the face of karma and bested the fates. I took my life into my own hands proved that nothing in this world is set in stone.
To quote one of the greatest philosophers of all time:
"It means your future hasn't been written yet! No one's has! Your future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one." - Dr. Emmett Brown
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