You Must Set Butt At Dawn

Here in the little village slash city we called, perhaps affectionately, ‘the mound’, the day struggled to get out of bed, first sliding its blanket of clouds a little to the right, then to the left, peeking from behind a particularly morose altocumulus cloud in a ray that left the eyes squinting like they belonged to a vampire who had missed the last bus back to the cemetery. The dew melted away like a satin curtain as the first languid drops of sun splashed upon the depressive surroundings we were forced to call home.

I stood at the window, watching the sun yawn in the horizon. This entire building was still one of snores, and I was not yet prepared to change the status quo. I was not merely studying the horizon to appreciate the sordid ugliness that was Mother Nature, an ugliness that people, despite the evidence of their eyes, insisted was the most beautiful thing ever. Watching nature-lovers extol her pulchritude was often reminiscent of the drunks who waylaid the slack-assed women of these streets, tugging at their resolutely resigned milkbags and calling them, yes, ‘fine girls.’

I was not admiring Mother Nature’s puckered asshole today. I was staring into another asshole that had recently occupied my immediate vicinity. These buttocks, now squatted in front of my door, were expelling between them — and quite loudly — explosive shit-flood after shit-flood and the smell wafted aggressively into my nostrils, causing my eyes to sting like I had been tear-gassed by the very flatulence of Satan.

The remoreseless possessor of these buttocks was a small boy, merrily shitting on my door as he had done frequently in the past, only this time I visually apprehended the offending anus whilst it was still firmly attached to its instigator.

And when he was done, he walked, ever so casually, as though this was business as usual, and presented his yansh to the wall flanking my door. Standing on tip-toes, with his legs spread apart as to coax his butt cheeks into a state of malice that ensured his anus was now free to express itself to its environment, he slid up and down, coating an already yellowed wall with greasy, organic paint.

And after he was done, he hitched up his yellowed pants which had hitherto lain in a soggy mass around his ankles and ensconced his young Rear End of Injustice.

No matter how often I tried in the past to get his parents to encourage their son to keep his buttockial adventures in the family, I always woke up to the occasional shit-smear. And the parents would deny and swear on the name of a god that nobody really revered that their child did not shit the shit I was accusing him of shitting.

Our typical conversation usually proceeded thusly:

‘The shit, which I complained about previously, has been shat again, mama Bomboy. Control Bomboy, please. Control your son’s anus.’

To which the thin-faced woman would say, ‘but Bomboy has not been shitting since three days. Someone else must be doing the shits and framing our sweet, sweet, son.’

Constipation as an alibi, despite the evidence that smelled volumes.

This woman fed her boy nothing but beans and corn daily, and I was the victim of her highly-tailored culinary wickedness. This boy, with a head not unlike a painful boil on the body of a young squirrel, ate beans and corn and visited my door to manifest in ways that should be banned in any sane society.

As he wheeled away, presently, I decided that something had to be done about it, and that I would confront his parents yet again.

Putting on the gas mask I now had to own due to this maltreatment, I crept around my doorstep until I could escape the gauntlet of shit it had become and tip-toed merrily to the doorsteps of my neighbors.

The sun was still trying to decide if it should just cancel the day or go ahead with it, and the East side of the house was beginning to light up.

I regarded the door of the beans-and-corn household.

I briskly undid the strings that held my pyjamas insecurely to my skinny frame, kicked them out of the way and crouched on the doorstep. The rectal dilation I anticipated came quicker than even I was counting on.

My diet for the last week had comprised entirely of beans and corn.