There is an abundance of defecation speak on this website and some of you may take offense to my repeated use of the vernacular terminology for feculence. If you find yourself to be of this pietist conviction, then retreat immediately, for a massive load of potty talk is about to be dumped upon thee.
I just returned from a three night camping trip in Summit county and the events of yesterday morning are what inspired me to write this entry. My post slumber routine was normal and upon exiting the tent, I made a cup of coffee and settled in to watch the sunrise. Twenty-seven minutes after finishing my first cup of demon cleaner (and right on schedule I might add) the spirit world called upon me to release an evil presence.
Quickly, I gathered the implements of the day’s first exorcism, and dashed off a quarter mile into the woods, honing in on a location capable of withstanding the abomination about to be unleashed upon it. Fortunately, I came across an impossibly large confluence of felled pine trees, perched upon a perfect heap of spongy detritus material and overlooking 180 degrees of spectacular mountain valley views.
The ground gave way with very little resistance as I feverishly excavated a tiny vault perfectly measured to 6”x 6”x 6” - which are the required dimensions for guaranteeing permanent entombment of any vile bequeathment you’re about to leave upon the earth.
Having made the proper ceremonial preparations, I assumed the ergonomically superior squat position and turned my gaze along a north-south axis as to commune with the unseen lines of magnetism (i.e., the same thing your dog does when he spins around 43 times looking for the perfect place to poop.)
What happened next is quite literally between me and the devil, but what I can divulge is that this particular wilderness evacuation event left me with the purest moment of clarity I’ve ever experienced. Admittedly, my only frame of reference here is the time I achieved nirvana via the #4 Cheese Enchilada plate at Efrain’s Mexican Cantina (on the corner of 63rd & Arapahoe in Boulder, CO) but I’m pretty sure it was the same type of transcendence all the robe wearing Santa Claus types are constantly talking about.
Anyway, this singular movement was so epic and so life affirming, that quite frankly it deserved its own soundtrack. So, do yourself a favor and keep this playlist handy for the next time you find yourself in a bathroom situation stinking of spiritual enlightenment potential.