The Anus Monologues

Look at me. Look at my anus. It is a powerful anus, squirting its gelled, liquid might all over the front lawn of society. It is as tight as an engagement ring. It is also as loose as a lobster-claw rubber band.

My anus winks at you the warm morning greeting of a beloved neighbor. But it can grow icy-cold, frigid and alpine when spurned. Do not spurn the anus, for the anus is as fearsome an adversary as it is a desired ally.

My anus has many moods -- lugubrious, ecstatic, gregarious, dry. Sometimes it has the itch -- the itch to do more. It shapes its coiled mouth into words or yearning.

It screams, I want.

It screams, I need.

My anus is bigger than a breadbox, and it can core a apple. My anus loves Gavin McLeod, but it hates "Left Behind." My anus is inclusionary -- its cavity is opened wide, ready to accept everyone regardless of race, creed, gender. My anus is bottomless in its love and conviction. My anus will squeeze down tight for what it right, and go slack when it needs to let go.

I am my anus. We are my anus.

My anus uses an abacus.