Well, I just got off the toilet a few minutes ago and have had, for lack of better words, a divine revelation. Stigmata.
You see, my poop was in the shape of a cross. A perfect cross.
Had I looked closer, I’m certain the detail would have exposed Jesus himself amongst yesterday’s brunch and now today’s miracle; smiling, winking, giving me the thumbs up. But I didn’t look closer - I mean, after all, what more evidence do I need? I’m a believer.
I’m not going to be one of those capitalist believers either. No, my poop is not for sale on eBay. It’s my own private little miracle and not going to be anyone’s freak show that they’d droop over their mantle and comment about to their friends during dinner parties. No way.
I’m not one of those people that leave it to go unnoticed either. The coincidence is too strong to ignore: Friday night I watched ‘Religulous’ with Bill Maher, and this of course is a sign from God Himself to ignore the mockery made of Him and to follow Him on the path of righteousness to salvation.
Wait, did I just say “follow Him on the path of righteousness to salvation”? That sounds like work. Whoa. Forget that.
Nope, now it’s just a poop in the shape of a ‘t’ again.
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