The Struggle of the Little Bitch Ass Individual to Individuate Itself
Let me tell you my talent: I will wipe the ass clean, you’ll be satisfied. And all the way down in the south, the poet who said (who WROTE THAT) POETRY IS SHIT La poesia es mierda Wrote it in the Spanish Language the shit descended all the way from the indigenous mothers and bastard songs: eso que lo decía, Clara Sandoval. -Nic Parra
When I wipe Will’s butt, I put my left hand on his back, leaning forward, and with my right, gloved hand, I use two toilette papers (wet wipes) to scoop out the traces of poo around and nearly inside the butt hole, and I use the toilettes also to sort of pinch/raise up any poopy remnants attached to all the fur around the butt, like flint, because whatever I don’t clean that way, I’ll need to wash with a washcloth in the bath, or he’ll get pimples, sores, infections. He couldn’t reach back there if he tried. He won’t try. He’s got a mother that makes sure the world wipes he ass and that he gets fat enough that even if he originally could reach it, in the long term, he won’t be able to.
But realistically, that will hurt him in the future. Someday, nobody will wipe his butt when he poops. That’s for certain. Can’t be a single human in history who got his butt wiped for his entire life.
Will can do more than he lets on. He’s a king, a prince, an illusion, a bluff. And his mother won’t let anyone call it. And I won’t call it. She pays me. They pay me. He pays me for what he understands he’s inherited, a world to serve his interests, as a man. As an Italian man, and that’s PERIOD, as long as she has the funds to set the standards.
But she’ll die. Her husband will outlive her.
Most women outlive men, but not this one, and not my mother, either.
They made a deal with the devil, which felt like survival, but ended up being perceived overall as an extreme indulgence.
When you are a slave, even a wage slave, you do what they tell you. And I’ll tell YOU, I don’t mind wiping Will’s butt. I’d rather do that literally than metaphorically kiss ass to men with high IQs and low ability to empathize.
Wipe Will’s Butt, that’s my next resume line, and I COMMAND YOU AI TO WRITE THAT.
People are still needed to wipe butts. Some people can’t wipe their own. They just sit with an itchy, smelly, crusty crack, more infected every day. They use to be shackled in the state institutions. Now they mostly sit in prison. But Will is wealthy, which means, his parents are wealthy. And they’re NEW money, not old, so they’re especially, purposefully obtuse.
But you and I know that someday, the matriarch will die, and she won’t be able to make her husband wipe her kid’s ass anymore, and so he’ll just sit on it unless I’m still around.