Human Tragedy

What is human tragedy? How often does human tragedy happen? That's a simple question with a not so simple answer.

What is human tragedy? How often does human tragedy happen? That’s a simple question with a not so simple answer. To me, human tragedy is a wet shit. One that doesn’t really come out that good. I’m not talking about diarrhea, mind you. I’m talking about semi-solid, but in the… wet.

[Brett’s phone rings]

Hold on I’m getting a phone call:

BRETT: Hello?


BRETT: Kill yourself? Who is this?

ASSHOLE: What do you mean who is this? It’s Rick, bro. You know, Rick with all the problems.

BRETT: Uh… oh yeah?... Rick… um… we know each other?

ASSHOLE: You used to buy weed from me in high school.

BRETT: Oh yeah! Rick! Long time no talk to. Hey can I call you back? I’m kind of in the middle of something.

ASSHOLE: Call me back? Did you not hear me when I said I was gonna kill myself?

BRETT: Yeah… no… yeah, I did, sure, yes. It’s just I just gotta finish up this one little thing. And I’ll call you right back.

ASSHOLE: You promise?

BRETT: Yes, I do. Talk to you soon.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, wet shit! Yeah it’s not diarrhea, mind you, it’s more of a soft serve. Now I know what you’re asking yourselves. Why do I consider wet shit, of all things, a human tragedy? Well the thing is, we have these bodies, these machines, and as indestructible as they may seem to us when we’re younger, the reality is parts of these machines are very fragile.

[phone rings again]

And… Hold on I’m getting another call.

BRETT: Hello?

ASSHOLE: Why haven’t you called me back yet?

BRETT: Oh… is this uh…

ASSHOLE: Rick! My name’s Rick!

BRETT: No… I know.

ASSHOLE: Why haven’t you called me back yet?

BRETT: I was just in the middle of something.

ASSHOLE: Yeah but I just threatened to commit suicide. I would think you’d call back kind of quick.

BRETT: I was… just about to.

ASSHOLE: No you weren’t! Nobody cares. Nobody will miss me! Nobody will even notice that I’m gone!

BRETT: Look, Rick, it’s all going to be OK. OK?

ASSHOLE: That’s what everyone tells me. But it’s not OK! It’s not not OK either! It’s not anything!

BRETT: Rick, I’m sorry to do this to you but I gotta call you back.


BRETT: Just two minutes Rick.

ASSHOLE: Two minutes?

BRETT: Just two minutes.


BRETT: Talk soon.

ASSHOLE: Two minutes soon, right?

BRETT: That’s right.

Anyway, it’s really amazing to me that we are this fragile. That just a little thing will completely throw off something as important as our own digestion. The real tragedy is the wiping. I can use a whole roll sometimes and there’s still a little brown.

[phone rings]

SHIT! One second.

BRETT: Rick! I thought I told you I’d call you right back.

ASSHOLE: It’s been three minutes.

BRETT: Fine! It’s been three minutes. What does it matter?

ASSHOLE: You told me two minutes. You lied!

BRETT: I didn’t lie. I’m just living my life, Rick! Look, I don’t know who you are. I can barely remember your face, and you expect me to talk you down from suicide. Why don’t you call somebody close to you.

ASSHOLE: Because everybody close to me is stupid.

BRETT: I’m sure that’s not true, and it’s probably thinking like that that’s making you feel alone and suicidal.

ASSHOLE: That has nothing to do with it!

BRETT: Fine. Well Rick, if you really think you’re going to do it you need to call the hospital or some sort of hotline.

ASSHOLE: But you’re my friend!


Jesus Christ. What am I, Mother Theresa? This idiot calls me out of the blue with a suicide threat. What am I supposed to do?! Sorry. Like I was saying. Doesn’t matter how long I wipe for—always a little brown. I thought about shaving my crack, but that’s not worth it. And that’s real human tragedy, too. Not doing things that are best for you (like shaving your ass crack) just because it’s a little inconvenient.

[my phone rings]



ASSHOLE 2: This is Rick’s mother.

BRETT: Rick’s mother?

ASSHOLE 2: I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy you heartless piece of shit!

BRETT: Woah. What?

ASSHOLE 2: He’s dead. My Ricky’s dead. He killed himself. He wrapped his mouth around the tailpipe of his car and smothered himself. His eyes are gray. My baby’s eyes are gray! He killed himself.

BRETT: Oh my God, ma’am. I’m so sorry! I am so very sorry!


[Asshole 2 hangs up]

Man. I feel awful. Anyway, I guess this just goes to prove how… fragile we are. Fragile as egg shells. Fragile as egg shells. Or should I say tragile. Tragic and fragile. Tragile.

Human Tragility in full effect!

Previously - Left Stand Up!