Constipation of the Mouth

If you’re looking for inspiration, you won’t get it here. If you’re looking for something to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside, I don’t really care (and you won’t get it here). In fact, let me just go ahead and recommend you stop reading now, because otherwise I’m about to waste your time (and we all know that it’s precious). If you’re still reading, I can’t really stop you, and I’m not going to waste another sentence warning you, so let’s move on.

When I sat down to write this, I truly had no idea where it was going to go. And to an extent, that still holds true. I tend to enjoy just letting the words drip down like a waterfall and go where they please, or like projectile vomit across a bathroom floor. Controlling them is useless, because when you censor yourself too much, you’re basically just cock-blocking any potentially great ideas you may have. This probably explains why some of my writing appears good. And some of it appears really bad. But hey, when you stand back, the waterfall is always beautiful, no matter how ugly it may be.

Typically, in most of my writing I aim to have my readers learn something. I aim to have a final point, or something they can take away and be like, “I learned something after reading that.” However, I doubt this will be one of those of reads, unless we can count “Wow, he really is pretty strange”, as something learned, though I’m pretty sure most of you already know that by now anyway. So for those of you wishing to learn from this, again, I apologize, this will probably not be one of those reads. And unfortunately this isn’t a picture book filled with nude, fit bodies, glistening from a workout, like a risque Crossfit magazine. So if you’re still reading, I admire your perseverance. Good job.

If there is something I would like to talk about, it would be constipation. Now there’s something we can all relate to: we’ve all been constipated at some point. Let me clarify what I’m getting at here. I’m not exactly talking about your more popular constipation of the ass, the one where you spend hours praying to the porcelain gods in a heat flash of death from Buffalo Wings, you know, the one that leaves you chaffed for days as the water burns your crack in the shower. I’m talking about constipation of the mouth. The kind that binds you like stitches from a Saw movie. The kind that finds your tongue lost, not loose. 

A good friend of mine likes to use the phrasing “Word Vomit”, (TM Shannon Payne) which is when we allow an intense amount of words to fill these pages. It’ll splatter in a mess of yellow, soft and soggy corn mixed with something that resembles avocado sauce. It won’t smell too much, unless it’s really bad, but it’s safe to read otherwise. This may be one of those instances, and it’s what rocket science will tell you is the complete opposite of Constipation of the Mouth, which is the current topic.

Constipation of the Mouth... If only I could get it out enough to explain what this is, then I wouldn’t be so damn constipated. It’s coming in dribbles now, small inconsistent dribbles. If only we could get to the full release, where it all just flows like that damn waterfall I was talking about earlier. I’m pretty sure you’re well acquainted with that feeling. Release. And 10 pounds lighter. Just like these italics. 

Very few people fully speak their mind. Most of us do suffer from Constipation of the Mouth. Unfortunately there isn’t exactly a drug you can take for this, however alcohol seems to be the only current remedy. They call it “Liquid Courage”, or maybe you’re just finally hydrated enough to fully release all that shit from your mouth. We all know commonly that dehydration can aid constipation. You’re body needs the fluids to flush it all out. This probably explains why alcohol is the current drug of choice for curing Constipation of the Mouth. It’s a fluid. And lots of it flushes the shit out.

Science has shown that people do tend to be more honest and forward with a moderate amount of alcohol in their system. Now, I’m not going to claim Diversity is an old wooden ship, but at this point I’m might as well since that stat was entirely made up. Though, I am pretty confident that I read something that said that on twitter, so it must be true. Or maybe this dancing around the topic is another form of constipation, like when you’re trying to go, you’re sitting on that seat, keeping it warm as your legs begin to lose feeling. But nothing comes out. Shit.

That’s exactly what this all is. Shit. The whole damn thing. Constipation of the Mouth. Word Vomit (TM Shannon Payne). Or maybe our culture lacks confidence. We’re all ADHD to some extent. And I blame the iPhone. There’s too many apps, and too many screens. I can’t keep up. But what I do know is we’re creating new mental disorders with all of this Constipation of the Mouth. If only we could all just consume the right amount of alcohol to create a steady flow of Word Vomit (TM Shannon Payne). 

Now, I’m not talking explosive, projectile Word Vomit (TM Shannon Payne). Not the kind that gets you fired from your White Collar Job or creates friction with your best friend from those days where you discovered the Canyon (that big hole in the land that looked significant as an 8 year-old). I’m aiming for the right amount of flow. Steady. Coherent. Legendary Flow. We want some substance, some thickness, but not rocks. And we don’t want that damn waterfall TLC is still hypothetically not chasing on VH1 reality shows. 

An over-share can get you into some trouble. And an under-share just increases the amount of shit that’s backing you up to the point of discomfort, begging for an eventual explosion. Shit painting the tiled walls of your bathroom. We don’t want that. Because you can sure as hell bet I’m not cleaning that shit up. Pun intended. 

So maybe I do have a point here: Don’t hold your shit in (Freud claims this is the first sign of rebellion, as your rebelling against nature). And don’t drink so much that the Word Vomit (TM Shannon Payne) explodes all over the walls or on some important painting at a friend’s house. Friends don’t like friends that vomit or shit in their house. On their things. That’s a really easy way to sentence yourself to a lifetime of playing Empire Earth on the internet against teenagers on Friday nights with a bag of skittles and a cream soda. 

If you’ve gotten this far, we must be friends. And if we’re not, we should be. Unless you’ve painted my walls with your explosive issues, smelling like soggy corn and guacamole sauce. Or was it avocado sauce? 

Shit.

Either way, I’m proud of your perseverance. I bet you did great in school. Because this read was busy work. A+ to you. Five Gold Stars and a pat on the back. I’ll make sure to put in a good word with the Big Man on your behalf, because everybody loves a brown noiser.