MISTER POO

God poos. It is not for negotiation.

The bible says He made us like Him and so He must shit. Also, He must wank and piss and lie and cheat and think about inappropriate sexual adventures from time to time.
This is God. He made you like Him.

If you never let anyone fuck with your mind, it means you will forever remain a mental virgin.
Open up and get loose.

Surrender an orifice, let some idiot scramble the insides of your head with their cock of nonsense.
I mean, apart from Isaac Newton, who dies a virgin?

So the King of Nepal is a goner.
I rule you. I don’t rule you.
I live in a gigantic palace. I live in a modest house.

Things can change. Your gut may be blocked up with clay-like deposits one day and be shitting like a Bombay tourist the next.
Who is to say what is to happen? Astrologers? [...]

Why should I care? The shite of twenty thousand dead dinosaurs and a hundred million trees.
Condensed are wormed over centuries, flattened by earth-weight and squeezed to perfection before finally being extracted by some smart asses and sold to me.

For what?
To drive the poo-mobile to shit town and buy some crap?
I should be so blessed.