Now some people will tell you I know a lot about bullshit because I talk and write a lot of it. Which, of course, is a complete fabrication. I am, in fact, a highly studious author who takes her writing and research very seriously indeed. Indeed, the only thing I take more seriously is the need to pluck my facial hair on a daily basis.
So let's get on and talk about bullshit.
God, it stinks doesn't it? I've lived in the countryside and it's not like ordinary cow shit which looks like this:
|This is calf-sized cow shit. Barely detectable. Step in some bullshit though and you won't ever forget it.|
Bullshit is way more odious. And about ten times the size of normal cow shit. It's like crap that's been sprayed from a cement mixer. I know the academics and city dwellers amongst you will be curious why bullshit is worse than cow shit. Well, basically, it's because bulls are really angry *uckers. They are never content with one herd of cows to themselves - they always want more, more, more. They just want sex 24 hours a day and, if they don't get it, they take their anger out with projectile shitting. I've seen an entire herd of cows parting, like Moses parted the Red Sea, to try and get out of the way of a bull with a turtle's head.
Another difference between cow shit and bull shit is texture. Cow shit is pretty gross and sticky but bullshit is like quicksand: one foot in it and you can be sucked into it up to your neck. And I should know - when I was kid and out picking blackberries with my siblings I accidentally stepped in some and before I knew it I was being sucked down into this vile bottomless pit of shit. It was awful - if you've ever flayed around in a tonne of shit whilst inhaling it up your nose you'll know exactly what I mean. If it wasn't for the quick thinking of my siblings, who formed a human chain and attached themselves to a nearby tree, I'd have drowned in bullshit.
Anyway, I'm afraid, dear readers, that my hideous experience has stayed with me all my life and left me deeply traumatized. I can never forget the smell or sensation of bullshit up my nose. A few years ago I tried to overcome my trauma with counselling but the therapist wasn't very sympathetic - he said I was making up my problems. Honestly, what kind of therapist takes that sort of attitude? I should have reported him to his governing body. In fact, I would have done had not the very next day I slipped on some dog crap outside my house and was hospitalised for a year with memory loss. By the time I'd regained my memory it didn't seem so important - I was too busy reeling from the discovery I wasn't married to Daniel Craig.
Anyway, that's it for today. I hope you've found this post informative. And if you enjoy this kind of bullshit please check out my book for more bonkers stuff. Tomorrow is the letter C. If you want to throw your hat into the ring for a subject for me to write about please leave a comment!
You can see who else is doing the blogging A to Z Challenge HERE