This is a story about shit and Jesus
Disclaimer: I have nothing against America or Americans. I married an American. My daughter and my son are both American. I lived in America for two-and-a-half years. Something like a full half of my friends are all American. So long as we all stay away from topics such as America’s healthcare, politics, immigration policy and religion we can all get on great.
Before I go on (and with the first paragraph in mind), I want you all to stare at the above image and take in the angry visage of Gerald Butler as a totally fucking-pissed-off King Leonidas in 300. I want you to recall the film and have all those classic lines fresh in your mind before you continue.
Ready? Today I had to go #2. I used a public restroom. Round about the time I’m halfway done, I hear somebody walk into the toilet. He sounds big and heavyset…kinda like Leonidas. So. He sits down. I hear grunting. I hear groaning. I hear panting and pushing and the scrabbling of booted feet trying to find purchase as he braced himself for the last big shove.
An eternity, an eon passes. In the time that Leonidas is sitting next to me shoving, empires rise and fall. Babes are born, take their first steps, start to run, go to school, have their first awkward kiss, leave home, get jobs, go through college, get married, have kids, grows old and dies, surrounded by his loving offspring. This repeats itself four or five times – we’re talking about a whole fucking family tree, here.
Finally, I hear a splosh. The echos haven’t died down before I hear a crisp and American-accented, ”UHN, PRAISE JESUS!” yelled at the top of a pair of substantial lungs.
Splosh. ”THANK OUR SAVIOUR!”
Splosh. ”PRAISE THE LORD!”
This is pure king-of-the-Spartans bravado and volume, you know? Fuck anybody who might be listening. This is a prayer between me and the man on high. Don’t need nobody a-passin’ comments.
So whoever you are, Mister Leonidas, I salute you. The odds are that you’ll be dining in hell tonight.
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