The word ‘Shit Mongrel’ is being tossed around too much these days. You see the word scrawled out on bathroom walls, behind the stall door, the word ‘shit’ in all caps, ‘mongrel’ written underneath it, dangling like a piece of crap to the word, ‘shit’.
It’s a complex statement. Usually you find the word by accident, hiding near the tail end of a positive piece of poetry, faded over time by repeated efforts to scrub it from history, as if only arcane phone numbers leading to God knows who’s mailbox are allowed to exist.
And then there are the numbers themselves, hastily written digits with a lone name attached to it:
“Call 555-5555 for a blow job. Ask for Robbie.”
As I squeeze out the first signs of a massive shit to come, I realize poor Robbie probably doesn’t want a dick anywhere near his mouth. This is what ‘friends’ do for you in their free time.
I suddenly find the word I’ve been looking for. There it is, halfway hidden, written in the chipped grout work enamel like a convict’s last testament to his poor, pitiful existence–SHIT MONGREL.
I inhale and hold my breath and push as hard as I dare, my anus feeling like it might rupture with the slightest miscalculation of pressure. I feel the heavy solid of my waste shift in my lower intestine, and I hunker back down to wait it out to move further down the tract. Too much effort and my anus will be too raw to finish the job.
Many folk like me have sat in this exact spot, pondering the universe in all its glorious glory. The last stall. The door doesn’t close all the way and opens up on its own at random times, letting you scramble to reclose it, holding your pants up, keeping your ass cheeks cocked just so, so the shit covering your ass crack won’t drip down on your shoes.
Finally, you jerry rig the bastard with whatever you can find, hoping that it’s a quick fix and the people coming in won’t come around the corner. Fuck ‘em if they do.
The word ‘Shit Mongrel’ flashes through my mind as I finish up. I’ll have to shit again soon and God knows where it will be, but there the word will be again regardless, the same messy writing from a crack-addicted hand, the same nonchalant effort to hide it in a special spot that you only notice when you’re looking for something else.
I imagine the person who first came up with the idea, how bored he must have been, how he must have felt really lucky to have had a pen on him at that point in time.
‘Shit Mongrel’ must have come to him as easily as the runs as he just opened his ass cheeks up and let the water and shit blast from his anus, the pen sketching those first loops on the concrete wall.
I flush for the final time and pull up my pants and stand staring down at my shoes.
There is shit on them.
Now I know what the word meant.
It means you cannot escape the act of shitting, no matter how civilized you think you are. You will always be reduced back down to squatting over some hole, relieving yourself accordingly, covering yourself in it, becoming–the Shit Mongrel.
Part II next Week