For some reason that's the only gemstone I'm carrying with me from last night's dreaming. I was in a conversation with a scantily clad supermodel, when she seamlessly shed her clothes and announced: "I have to poop."
Being a voyeur as always, I ran around to the other side of the room, where a mirror afforded me a close up view of all the anatomical details.
I realized that supermodel poop was just as messy as normal people poop, and in this case, possibly more so. It was a sticky, chocolate pudding affair, with lots of smeary wiping going on. I had a moment of detached caregiver disgust, as I rated it up there with some of the worst bowl movement cleanups I had ever participated in.
She was unperturbed and tried to keep up the conversation as if nothing were going on. I finally had enough of the puddingy image burned in my mind and found elsewhere to look. This was going to take a while, and the initial fascination had left me. I supposed that she would eventually clean herself up and regain her supermodel status, but the bloom had come off the rose.
I began to ponder why exactly it is that angels don't poop, when they are able to eat food as humans do. I thus began revisiting all my arguments and disagreements with this matter world's configuration and parameters. Is this kind of thing really necessary? I mean who thinks up this kind of an ecology, given an infinite range of possibilities for design, where poop is the universal constant?
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.