American Yarnprose>Short & Quick Prose To Squat By

(1) I Walk Into The Filmhouse Toilet And Start Singing

I walk into film house toilet and start singing; “Nothing could be finer than to see a line o' men pissing in the morning." In the stall next to me, on my left, a man reaches over to grab a fallen thin black Bic pen. Big Negro Arkansas with old beefy hand, that has built this country when at first he stood in soot and soil. I hear the sounds of toilets flushing and men wiping. It's like a symphonic display of self-expression, washing and wiping hands off free of bacterial disease factor. Gone the thousands of terrorist nightmares that were eaten, digested and shat out eight hours later.

(2) Feces' Pieces

A fecal-shaped fist rises up from toilet and points the way forward. Did you ever notice how much waste product points outward and almost never curves? Strange phenomena for sure, as whenever you sit down and have a little grunting and farting session, the brown excess that falls from your body and splashes into the cold clear water.

And have you ever noticed that it is building up and climaxing like an orgasm, all that pushing and grunting and breathing back and forth, just as you lay on top or sideways or behind your girl or boy, the smell is the same of sexuality, fecalism, heavy perfumes and sweat. And afterwards, pulling out, wiping yourself off and pulling your pants back up and flushing away the oldness of action itself down the drainpipe.