Stirring and convulsing inside are the gut bacteria of 25 years of unclean eating, gone-off egg and undercooked pork, fermenting every bite of every meal of every macro into new and vile products not yet known to the majority of man. I'm eating duck paté and mayonnaise, unleashing viscous liquids into lavatories, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me.

I'm viciously and consistently shitting clumpy stools in all the territories, clogging pipes with congealed matter layered like faecal lasagna between the excessive amount of paper I wipe with. I'm worn sore.

I can't be blamed, though. I barely make it through the night without an accident. Each morning, I awake not from restfulness, but from the panic of feeling an imminent blast coming. I'm like an old woman with a bad knee predicting the weather, except my knee is my asshole and the rain is the aerosolised shart storm due to hit in 25 seconds, whether I'm on the toilet or not.

One of my hobbies is to lay waste to public toilets, shops, or other people's homes. I've got a unique ability to make something flushable, but sticky enough like clay that it will for sure clog the pipe within a short distance of the toilet. It won't be until the next person that it fails and, so, I always avoid blame. To me, this has always felt like a God-given mission, something beyond my own understanding but projected into my mind by beings over greater magnitude than what the human mind could construct in its most loose and heightened state, for reasons so beyond understanding that it bears no thought to even comprehend the why's of the why, nevermind why itself. Some of us are destined for greater purposes, you would know if it you were, and you would know not to question it.

One can only hope and pray that some new resistant disease forms, incapable of being stopped, impossible to cure, and deadlier than anything before, to help cleanse this world of its population by... I'd say 40% as a minimum starting point. The rebuild shall yield a great new area like never before seen, where the people dance and sing and make merry with the gifts of those now gone, bestowed upon the chosen few, in a brave new world where the echoes of scarcity now ring in plentiful bounty. It shall not be a sad day, for it is the coming of the age of splendour.