And here we have one final squeeze from the intrepid BM. Looking forward to more poopy dispatches from wherever he may roam.
3.18.2013
My little brown notebook has served me well on this trip to
doo doo down under. Pooping has been for the most part enjoyable and
when not that, revelatory.
Our last night in "Oz" was fun, we had
free food and drinks all night with the crew and staff of the festival.
Tostada with meat, veggies, and delicious sauce, these things called
"Torpedoes" which somehow made cottage cheese delivious, lettuce wraps
with many meats, venison, chicken wings. . . did I mention free drinks?
Upon waking up (my hotel door had been left open) once again in my
clothes and looking into the calm warm eyes of Beowulf telling me "it's
time to go home," I was glad I had already packed and noticed a red wine
stain on my hat which I had just purchased the previous afternoon.
After that it was cereal and milk on the place to Sydney with some
fruit, then beef ragu on the way to LA.
This long backstory is to give you the context for my GREATEST airplane
BM. I didn't wait in line for the bathroom as the TSA and Homeland
Security apparently now forbids "gathering in small groups by the
bathrooms." Luckily I had an excellent view of the bathroom from my seat
and was able to watch a tattooed man, my friend Molly, a kid whose
short hair had spots dyed into it, a lady with crazed eyes (his mother, I
believe), and what appeared to be the Australian Liza Minelli use it
before getting up to use it myself. An older gentleman stood behind me
and I felt a twinge of guilt for the time I was about to spend, but
didn't dwell on it.
I can't tell if it was the quality of the food, the insane amounts of
wine, or just relief at relieving and finally returning home (after
running through Sydney airport at full speed earlier that morning), but
really, this was not strange smelling, difficult, or bizarre. Just a
poo, a doo. A zen poo which I imagine was sucked out toward the cesspool
but ended up diverted to the plane's jet and flung out over the
Pacific, dangling in the air like a gorgeous brown cloud before gently
sloping downward into the water and, after striking the water with an
extremely satisfying slap, continued its descent past unimaginable and
amazing forms of aquatic life who (swimming in their own shit already)
paid it no mind but simply let it pass as effortlessly and easily as it
had dropped from my butt, through the layers of ocean into the soft
spiny arms of a deep sea crab who rocked it sweetly to sleep next to the
giant red and white tube worms sucking on gas gushing from the sea
floor.
It is with this poo-spereince I bid you and the doo. . . ado.
Pleasant plops, everyone.
Previously pooping pickled platypus parts,
Brian
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