IT’S GUEST BLOGGER FRIDAY! TODAY’S QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED BY SAM YURICK, A LOS ANGELES-BASED WRITER, VISUAL ARTIST, MUSICIAN AND OCCASIONALLY EMPLOYED PERSON. HE’S ORIGINALLY FROM WEST VIRGINIA, AND GENERALLY ENJOYS BIKING, POPULAR CULTURE THAT ISN’T THAT POPULAR IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS AND HIGH-CULTURE DERIVED FLUFF. HE IS AN EAGLE SCOUT — AND A DAMN GOOD ONE — AND PREFERS THINGS THAT ARE CLEVER TO THINGS THAT ARE CUTE. HE TUMBLS HIS CREATIONS, INSIGHTS AND A BUNCH OF OTHER STUFF AT WWW.RAPTORAVATAR.TUMBLR.COM.
I guess this soiling the bed every night for a year business both is and isn’t a matter of degree. Since it’s for a million dollars, I’m assuming that a piddle won’t suffice and diapers aren’t allowed. For the sake of argument, let’s push it as far as we can: By soiling the bed, we mean pissing and shitting — in fact, rolling around in both until they make a fine, homogenized poop-gruel that covers most of the area between the mid-thigh and lower abdominal area like a pair of fecal bicycle shorts while leaving a nice, brown continent-shaped blot on the bed.
Personally, I’m fine with this. After all, I’ve worked in jobs where I had to wear dress shoes all day. That’s far more uncomfortable and humiliating than being smeared in one’s own feces for 365 straight nights. Dressing up makes me feel like a tool of the beast. Being covered in my own filth, by contrast, is a hilarious, borderline-spiritual experience; like getting to dig into a womby slick comprised of the day’s repurposed nourishment night after night. To paraphrase Ralph Wiggum, “Sleep is where I’m in a Jodorowsky movie!” Hell, I would probably giggle for the first few weeks.
A few caveats on logistics: I’m assuming that I can shower in the morning and am at least allowed to scrape off the excess from the mattress itself. The point is the act of soiling the bed. However, assuming I could grow psyclocibin mushrooms in my accumulated dungheap of a bed (this is what they call making lemonade out of lemons, or more accurately, making narcotics out of corn that didn’t digest all the way), it would probably be a profitable enough sideline that I wouldn’t need to work during my year of bed-pooping, which would give me more time to do other stuff. Unfortunately, the business side would involve dozens of awkward, perfunctory conversations with college freshmen who would then all have the same story about “That shit-smelling guy we bought these shrooms from.” However, it still beats temping.
- Sam Y.
I guess for a million I’d say yes to this, although, Jesus Beezus, I can only imagine the skin conditions I’d develop. And yet, I’m fine with whatever pox I might catch if it meant not having a day job. My parents would be so proud to know that my work ethic basically amounts to this: a willingness to shit my bed every night just to get out of having to go to an office every day. Dirty, filthy money, indeed.
- Kali
