RUN! Run, he's got a doody stick! Eeewwww!
Remember those playground cries and the chase that followed? Sure you do, whether you were running from the guy with the doody stick or you were the guy with it,* you do remember those days. In those days the only important thing was getting away from your doody stick wielding playmate -- you never questioned why he felt the need to get a doody stick and chase people. Or, if you happened to have armed yourself with the doody stick, you never really thought about why you did so or why you were chasing people -- it was just fun!
So what happened to those days and the doody stick after we grew up? Nothing. NOTHING! The doody stick is still with us and we still don't want to touch it. Only now, it is the shit stick and we only acknowledge it after we have been handed the shit end of it. Handed you say!? Yes handed. No longer does someone chase us with it and we vigorously and vocally try to avoid it. We're grown up now so we wait until our boss, wife/girlfriend,** husband/boyfriend, or whoever it may be hands it to us. After we get it we complain that we got it, or hope someone who cares will note that we got it, and then we deal with it -- all because we are adults and can't run away screaming anymore. What about those handing it over? Well, they never acknowledge they're doing it or think much about it -- they still get loads*** of pleasure from their actions, but the simple joy and acknowledgment of their actions are now shrouded in justifications that it was necessary for one reason or another.
Does any of this make sense? OF COURSE NOT! The doody stick is life and life makes very little sense. So why are we here?**** I have no idea why you're here, but I can tell you why I am. I'm here to acknowledge the craziness and vent a bit. If it amuses you, visit now and again. If not, well... then I'm sure there is a doody stick waiting for you and you can just go deal with it yourself.
* Maybe chauvinistic, but I never met a girl armed with a doody stick.
** Yes, the grossly challenged sex doesn't seem to shy from it's power when we move to the metaphorical.
*** Shitloads? Probably
**** Here on this blog, not here in life on this earth -- do I sound like a fuggin' swami whose gonna lead you to the light and maybe feed you some Kool Aide?
I've wondered about that myself. I think we get sold a bill of goods that maturity and growing up means no longer running, that it's time we "stood there and took it like a man". And the older I get, I realize that the people who sell us that oleo are the very same people who then hand us the stick. Quite a con.
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