It’s not that I don’t care about my body or my life it’s just that I’m really not that too concerned about it – that is, the long term consequences I suppose.
I tend to invest a lot of my time and energy in thinking about and doing stupid things.
I think about why we haven’t applied more thought in capturing the potential energy generated from humans pushing revolving doors.
I wonder about how when people kiss, what percentage of men and women decide to keep there eyes wide open.
Then I think about really dumb things.
Like what could I eat for money?
This past Saturday I ate a box of 24 crayons.
I will repeat that. I ingested 24 non-toxic, OfficeMax brand crayons. Wrapper and all.
And I did this all for money. And there is no shame in that because if I hadn’t done it for cash you would all think I was just a bit off my rocker.
Which, I seriously might be.
So, the origin to all of this is that the softball team I play for tries to have a BBQ once a summer. We usually have plenty of food, drinks, a bags tournaments and stay in a backyard. We laugh and tell stories until eventually someone throws up a stupid bet and finally someone with massive, mammoth sized balls comes along and says, “Well, for how much?”
The guy with the big balls? Yeah those belong to me. Oh, you mean the half-Chinese guy with the spirit shooter the size of Soviet Russia on a grammar school map. That’s Jim Fucking Osterhout.
Last year I ate a Chinette plate. This year I ate 24 crayons. I can tell you that both of them were most displeasing.
To be upfront, and hopefully not sounding like a complete idiot, I know that what I am doing is probably bad for me. This whole thing is ridiculous and so ill conceived that one day I might seriously injury myself in the process but as long as the money is good and there is a challenge I will probably take it.
It’s all a learning process. Wisdom and intelligence points to be garnered in the role playing game of life.
The act of eating the crayons was actually really simple. I would break them into sections of three and then just swallow them whole (like Aspirin) aided by the help of a soft drink for flavor. In this case it was Diet Dr. Pepper, Coke and Diet Root Beer. And like most learning processes they all have a curve. In this particular contest, I think I went at it too fast. I thought I could just get it done in one fell swoop when actually I should have taken my sweet time. Regardless, I still managed to finish in at a respectable clip.
But truly, the most important thing that I have discovered is that the body does not digest paper. And nor does it digest wax. And if you need proof I have pictures of my stool that I captured while I was at work.
And if you are seriously more disgusted than impressed with that last statement then you Sir/Madame have obviously not thought about the logistics of this.
I took myself all the way up to an almost vacant floor of the Merchandise Mart around ten o’clock on Monday. Based on last year’s performance with the paper plate I knew this was about the time I would finally rid myself of the foreign contents inside of my stomach.
When I got off the elevator, I ran to the bathroom. I went through the double doors, quickly undoing my belt and clumsily trying to drop my pants at the same time. I grabbed the first possible stall in the house, sat down and released. It was rough. And tough. And the only way I could describe is like it is that it felt like I was passing a crayon. A very sharp crayon.
As the first scouts dropped into the toilet I couldn’t help but look. And as the ripples dispersed I could make out the image of a piece of yellow crayon, still perfect with the paper wrapper around it.
At this point I realized two things:
1. I am as stupid as a seven-year-old.
2. I still had twenty three other crayons inside of me.
And after that, things got dicey.
I grabbed onto the toilet paper dispenser and threw my left hand in to the air. Waiving it wildly as the army of crayon chunks pushed their way out of my body. It was as if my ass was reenacting the fire bombing of Dresden. And this lasted a long time. At least until the last stupid wax figure had made its way out and nose dived into the tainted, murky poo pool below me.
Chuckling to myself, I sent out a text message to my closest friends, informing them that the crayons had made it to their final destination and that I would send some of them a picture of my rainbow masterpiece soon.
And then I realized something. How was I to take a picture, especially when all of the sediment hadn’t fallen to the bottom of the toilet? Surely I could lift myself up and take a picture but no one would be able to make out a thing. It would be just like another blurry shot of the Lochness Monster or a lame photo of a UFO.
So here I was at a crossroads: If I didn’t wait, the picture would just look like a dirty pond but if I didn’t wipe soon I would have a gigantic mess of dried brown paste stuck to my asshole sooner than you could ask, “Who here has seen the Duck Tales movie?”
So I made an executive decision. I stood up, grabbed my shirt , lifted it to my belly button and waddled my way out of the stall and into the neighboring one. I watched myself in the mirror as I looked like an idiot, half naked creeping into another part of the bathroom hoping to God that no one would walk in and see me prancing into another stall with a shit covered asshole.
I jumped in and closed the door and proceeded to wipe myself, taking as much time as I needed so that the toilet to my right would settle down and I could finally grab the perfect picture. And as luck would have it, my patience paid off. When I finished with the big dig in stall number two, I gleefully walked over to the first toilet and smiled. There, inside that brown bowl, I could see the colors of a beautiful waxy rainbow.
I took my photos and sighed. The nightmare was finally over. I had done something so stupid, so absurd that I might as well be dead, yet here I was, alive and allowed to tell the tale.
And as I flushed the toilet I realized that not only was I richer in the wallet but in my heart as well.