I went snowshoeing today.  It was a delightful winter afternoon; sunny, little wind, warming into the upper 20’s.  My spirit was alive.  All around me were the wonders of nature.  Chickadees frolicked in the brush along the edge of the frozen creek.  The snow enveloped me in silence, save for the occasional eerie call of a particularly vocal Pileated woodpecker.  I traveled a trail I had broken only two days prior.  The trail weaved through a medley of deciduous trees; oak, birch and maple.  On occasion, I came across a great, gnarled White pine, a remnant of the virgin forest long ago chopped down in the name of progress.

As I neared a sharp bend in the creek, I noticed an otter slide.  Not long after, I could see the tracks of this otter.  The otter was walking down the trail I had made.  Knowing the otter and I had traveled the same path, I felt a kinship for my water-loving, mammalian friend.  Then I came across a place where the otter had shit on the trail.  About fifty yards later, the otter fired again and then once more shortly thereafter.  That is no way to treat one’s kin.  I bristled at the creature’s lack of etiquette.

“Damned otter,” says I.  “Have you no shame?”

The otter, perhaps fearing my wrath, uttered nary a sound.  But he was there someplace.  Shifty, shitting little beast.  If only I could get my hands on his flexible little neck.

Actually, I wouldn’t really want to do that.  Have you ever wrestled an otter?  It is not a recommended activity.  In fact, I am pretty sure that an otter would literally try to eat your face off.  Regardless, I would have given him a good tongue lashing whilst holding out a long stick in case of a beserk otter charge.

My anger subsided eventually.  What was to be done?  The otter was gone, leaving his little piles of number two as a calling card.  Pondering further, I realize the otter’s defecation was really a metaphor.  No matter how good your intentions, it is up to the other to respond with gratitude.  Sometimes you get thanks and praise for your good deeds. Other times you get- in this case, literal- shit.

It is just another example of the random nature of existence.  Good intentions and all that.  Even so, I wonder what that otter is thinking right now.  Does he think of me and the kindness I tried to do him?  Or is he merely filled with rage at the mere mention of the two legged interloper into his territory?  Unless one has Doolittlean abilities, the thoughts of the otter will remain unknown.  Regardless, I wish this otter well.

Actually, that is a lie.  In fact, I pissed on the trail twice just to irritate the hell out of him.  He is probably taking an otter laxative right now just to get his revenge.  Don’t worry, you little bastard.  I will be back.  And this time I am drinking three big Gatorades before I leave home.  There will be a river of red piss in the snow when I am through.  In your whiskered face, you damned sodden Mustelid.

And if that doesn’t work I am going on an all bean diet.

One, two, three, four, I declare a colon war.  And my colon is huge compared to an otter’s.  Bigger than huge.  Yuuuuugggge.

Speaking of bodily functions, did you see where Trump had prostitutes piss on him?  Pow pow pow.

Somebody needs to put a little Trump in a bottle of urine.  “Piss President.”

“POTUS of piddle?”

“He’s not or-ange, Lester.”  The hillbilly licks his lips and undoes his trousers.  “That boy’s yeller.”