The Dong Of Man

Nah, whoever it was, he rang the doorbell twice.  It was twice.  Of that, I am absolutely certain.  “Ding-dong, ding-dong.”  It wasn’t that quickly, though, the succession of sounds, the succession of “dings” and “dongs.”
It was more… 
And then…

Nah.  The lag between the first “dong” and the second “ding” stretched on longer than even that.  In the time between the first “dong” and the second “ding” you could’ve, I don’t know, you could’ve flushed the toilet and there’d be enough time for it to fully flush and fill and go quiet.  And I’m talkin’ the time it would take for an old toilet to do that--an old, reliable toilet.  Which is what I happen to have.  The plumber wanted to put in a new toilet, but I said, “N. O.”  Just like that.  
“N. O.” 
 I didn’t even say, “No.” 
 Just, “N. O.” 

Nah, I hope to die sittin’ on that toilet.  Sort of like Elvis did--but under better circumstances.  He died on a toilet, right?  That’s the legend, anyway.  That’s the way to go.  You know what I mean.  After taking the biggest crap of your life.  If possible.  That’s the way.  So long as the pressure’s finally off, so long as you’ve genuinely relieved yourself, who fuckin’ cares how they find you?  You won’t.  How could you?  Wherever you go--if you go anywhere--you’re in heaven, you’re in hell, you don’t give a shit.  You can’t.  Literally, you can’t.  Literally, physically, spiritually, in all the ways possible, you cannot.  Or, explain it to me:  How, in the hereafter, can you spiritually give a shit?  Never been done.  Sorry, but there’s no ghostly poop.  I’ve lived long enough to know. 

What’s the difference, anyway?  Unless you’re the chump who’s gotta clean up the mess.  All that chump can do is prepare.  Cleaning supplies, gloves, maybe a mask.  Trash bags.  That’s the way it goes.  We all take a dump, then we’re dumped ourselves.  It’s all organic, though.  All biodegradable.  You provide fertilizer and then you are fertilizer.  Don’t matter who you were while breathin'.  And that’s one good thing.  Right?    

Sure, he might’ve given a name, the guy who rang the doorbell, twice, but I never caught it.  What’s important is that he rang it.  Twice.  That’s what started the whole shebang.  That’s why you’re here.  Why we’re talking.  Why I’m talkin’ to you. 

Wanna see that toilet?  It’s split pea green.  I shit you not.  
The sink’s the same color.    

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