One evening, Lawrence got a particularly strange idea stuck in his head. Now, this is an idea that would probably not ever occur to a “normal” person, and he realized this. It was relatively harmless, but he was pretty sure it was something that would disgust and repulse most people. But this idea, for whatever reason, compelled him. He just had to go through with it.

The idea had come to him as he was just finishing off a giant plate of salami, cheese, and crackers. “Man, am I thirsty.”, Lawrence had said aloud to himself. “Can’t believe I ate all that salty stuff without water. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve had anything to drink all day… boy, my next shit sure is going to be fun!” Lawrence laughed robustly and then started thinking about what kind of shit it would be. He knew already. It was going to be one of those really hard ones that floated toward the top of the and shot little gas bubbles out into the water. The picture in his mind brought back memories of those old Alka-Seltzer commercials that he’d seen as a kid in the ’80s. “Plop plop, fizz fizz, motherfucker!” Lawrence busted out into laughter once again. He pictured a little rocky turd floating in a glass of clear water… bubbles streaming out of it. He could visualize it perfectly

Lawrence could not shake that image from his brain. For some reason, that’s just the way his mind worked. If he pictured something clearly and completely, it was stuck in his mind until he made it a reality. He just knew that sometime the next morning he’d find himself squatting over a glass of water, trying to push out a steamer. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it!” Larry laughed some more, even though he didn’t find his latest joke to be particularly funny.

Sure enough, that very next morning (which was a Wednesday, in case you were wondering… weird things usually happened to Larry on Wednesdays for some odd reason) he did, indeed, find himself squatting over a half-filled glass of water.  And, sure enough, it was a very hard and unforgiving poop. Dry, it was, too… and it felt like it was snagging on and pulling out his ass hairs with every millimeter it crept out. After a brief period of moderate pain, he finally felt it push free and go “plop!” right into the water. He sat his bare ass down on the brown shag carpet of his living room (not to worry, this sort of shit never requires a wipe!) and raised the glass up to his face to get a good view of it. What he saw was a golf ball sized shit meteor–no, wait– make that, assteroid (ha ha!) floating in a glass of tap water. Bubbles streamed out of it into the water, just as he’d pictured in his mind. “Brilliant! Better go get the camera. And the video camera, this one needs to be documented with moving pictures!” So, Lawrence did just that… he took a few stills of the glass sitting on the kitchen counter with his digital camera, then switched to video mode and got about 10 seconds of footage of the bubbles bubbling out of his prized turd.

Larry immediately went to his computer in the bedroom and downloaded the files. He picked out the “best” of the stills and printed it as a 5×7. He then went out to the living room and taped it to the wall opposite his pea green rocking chair. There it sat, amid about twenty or thirty other pictures… mostly family portraits from his childhood, a few vacation pictures from a life now long gone. Most average people would probably not easily spot the turd in the glass out of what amounted to a clusterfuck of photos on the wood-paneled wall. “Aww shit, what am I thinking?” Larry unstuck the photo from the wall and hurried into the kitchen. Grabbing a pen out of the drawer, Larry set the photo face down on the counter and quickly scrawled “Plop plop, fizz fizz by Lawrence Anderson, 2009″. “That’s better.” He knew what he’d created was, quite literally, shit. But Larry also knew that it was real. It was a vision that he’d had in his head, with a passion, and he’d been able to make that vision a reality. That was the common link between all brilliant artists. Was it Larry’s fault if his muse wasn’t quite as high-brow as, say, Michelangelo? “I’m just the conduit…” Larry murmered to himself as he walked back to the living room and stuck the picture back on the wall, “Just the conduit… maybe one day there will be something better for me to do… maybe…” And, with that, Lawrence Anderson plopped his overweight ass back into his favorite pea green chair… just in time to watch an ancient rerun of Classic Concentration.