Cesspool Sociologyby Montle Moorosi / 28.05.2009
“There is little logic to be expected on this earth, not only in the matter of thought, but also sentiment…” –Joseph Conrad
Slice of life, that’s a good title for this column since it’s about sharing a piece of information about your life. It’s also a good title for a gory slasher movie about a serial killer who dresses up as a postman and leaves his victims’ kidneys in their families’ post boxes with a note attached that says “Best enjoyed with fried onions”.
The human mind is fascinated with the mental condition or lifestyle habits of fellow humans. We read tabloids and spread gossip about our friends and associates, we watch things like big brother and some of us even cut off the hair of unsuspecting victims and sniff it when we get home.
As much as I’d love to talk about myself and my fine collection of Chinchilla fur coats, my crude oil-burning sports cars, my rhino tusk ivory toothpicks that cost the lives of two poachers, and blood diamond-encrusted gold chains, I’d rather pose a scatological psychological question about what makes the lives of other people interesting.
There are three types of people in the world: those who take a look at their faeces before they flush, those who don’t, and those who peep over the toilet stall to see what the other person is going to do with their doo doo before it’s sent away to the municipality.
The first kind of person is my favourite – they’re so engulfed in themselves that nothing matters more to them than what’s inside of them. They’re not afraid to look at life or gag at its ghastly corn-infested form.
The second type of person is my least favourite. Their nose gets wet at the mere stench of their own doing; they don’t even flush their legacy properly because they’re so afraid to confront life. No one should leave floaters behind. There’s no place for ghosts in this day and age.
The third kind of person acts as a bridge between these two people: his business is not to flush or make sure anything is flushed in the other stalls, he takes pictures of your thighs spread open while you read your newspaper and grunt away last night’s curry. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy watching, but something in his brain compels him to.
What type of person are you?