"There is nothing wrong with shit my dear," the turtle said whilst playing darts. "Dogs eat shit all the time and they're truly smart animals."
The turtle was right. Even the smart, from time to time, eat their own poo. That thought troubled me, not in the sense of the material poo but the ethereal kind, the poo that isn't truly a large abandoned smelly turd on a field somewhere but those things we allow to be in contact with ourselves that aren't good, the things that hurt us.
"You're right," the turtle said, now using the darts to perform voodoo on a Simon Cowell doll.
"About what?", I said.
"That thing you were just thinking, that philosophical shit you just came up with."
"But how would you know what I was thinking? You're just some turtle performing voodoo in my living room. You have no permission to access my consciousness."
"Oh but you do forget dear, I am a product of your imagination and every single thought that comes through your head, I'm right there, sitting next to it, jizzing in its mouth."
I couldn't help the incessant thoughts about this poo business. Cats are different from dogs. Compared to dogs, they possess an even higher level of animal mental retardation - I mean, they wash using their tongues - but still, they don't eat their own shit.
"You were onto something before that dear," said the turtle again, now running on the treadmill. "Humans do eat shit".
"Not literally," I said. "Ok, maybe except for that time when I was seven months of age and dipped my index finger into a nappy. Although that was in the hope of finding the chocolate mousse mother had promised me."
"Oh but I don't mean that, you see. I don't mean you are in perpetual damnation in the company of Satan ingesting your own special mountain of turds. What I mean is you, as human beings, no longer expect quality. You settle for less."
"You marry somebody that hurts you, you become friends with somebody that doesn't accept you, you try to please those who dislike you, you pollute the water you eventually drink and even the air that you breathe."
As I sat back on the chair picking my nose and eating a bogey, I meditated on what the turtle said. Maybe it was right, maybe we as a species have made ourselves content with impurity, with carelessness. Maybe its a sign that we have accepted our mortal nature, our extinction and have, in consequence, become suicidal.
"But you are wrong about this water I am drinking," I said to the turtle. "It can't be polluted since I have spent a fortune on this very expensive filtering machine."
"Oh, but I know there is nothing wrong with the water when it comes out of the filtering machine," the turtle said, "But what you missed was that while I performed my little pseudo-philosophical speech on you I took that glass of pristine water and urinated in it."
Image borrowed from here
