Opinions Vary: CRAP YOUR PANTS, YOU’RE ONLY HUMAN.

This is the cold hard truth. Or should I say the squishy warm truth. At least once in our lives, we have filled our pants with brown yuck-yuck. Whether we are younglings, freshly emerged from our mother’s labia, or we are old as shit incontinent motherfuckers. At some point we have crapped our pants. Desperate waste has slithered down our legs, compiling itself into pile of reminder. A reminder of our body’s pathetic inefficiency.

I crap my pants at least once  a year. Can you blame me? I’m an over-caffeinated mess. I trade in Diet diuretics and dump-inducing protein bars. At least once a calendar year my desired ripping of ass goes from “Oh shit!” to, “Oh…a shit.” Most importantly though, and where I’m struggling to go with this, is that I’m fine with such a dolloping of dump upon my boxer briefs. You see, I find crapping your pants to be an essential reminder of our humanity.

Until the techno-cyborg revolution privileges us with quasi-organic bodies capable of one-hundred percent efficiency, we’re all going to be rotting meat sacks. As we march towards our death, we find our squishy parts and our skeletal bits failing us. Man, I’m thirty. Just thirty. And yet even at this moment in my life, I feel myself far less virile than I used to be. Masturbation has resigned itself to a thrice-a-day activity, and the seminal fluid I slosh upon my keyboard no longer glimmers an opalescent glory. It looks – in short – tired.

Despite these daily reminders that the path to glory (and frantic, dick-weakening stroke sessions) lead but to the grave, I myself often forget that my time on this globe is limited. The Blue Marble will churn on soon enough, forgetting about the lad named Caff-Pow who created a failure of a blog, loved his friends and family, and spilled more seed than Robert Baratheon.

So you see – when my quivering anus momentarily quits, I remember. I remember several things. Firstly, that what whatever the meat is in Taco Bell is more like diarrhea-inducing horse mush. Secondly, that the Good Lord’s creation of a washing machine has salvaged many a pair of my undies. And thirdly, that I am not but a collection of dense particle-thingies whose time is fleeting.

Yes, this is a roundabout way of saying the following. Carpe Shitty Pants reminds me to Carpe Diem.

I don’t care, it’s just the truth.

As I have to scrape muck off my inner thighs, I recall what ugly and beautiful things we are. Ugly and beautiful things. It’s an essential humbling experience in all our lives. It rips us out of the moment. Be that moment frantically driving home before it happens, or about to ejaculate onto the kitchen floor. C’mon, be honest. Jacking off onto a freshly clean floor with a cucumber in your ass is also an essential human experience. We’ve all thought about it. So when that cucumber rockets off the shiny floor covered in your internal unused nutrients you can double down on the life experience. It’s a reminder that we’re here. No seriously, I think it is. I’m not mad. Well, I’m mad, but I also think this so.

So I kick the microphone to you guys and gals. Maybe it isn’t you getting the brown icky in your fingernails as you try and fix a mistake. What is an essential humbling experience that you think everyone should have? Not in the “cut you down to size, you arrogant piece of shit!” sort of way specifically, but just as a gentle reminder to smell the roses.

Hit me.