The Shit Monster's Monologue: “I Am the Brown Reckoning”

Cue thunder. The skies part, the air grows thick with a stench no mortal nose should endure. From the sewers beneath the earth, a bubbling grows. Then — silence… followed by an enormous, squelching eruption. A towering, dripping, steaming beast of filth rises up. Behold: the Shit Monster.

"FOOOOOOLS!" You thought you could flush me away? Banish me to the porcelain abyss? You thought your scented candles and triple-ply quilted sorcery could contain my wrath?

I AM THE BROWN RECKONING. I am the unspeakable aftermath of Taco Tuesdays and gas station sushi. I am the spirit of every burrito that betrayed its eater. I am vengeance smeared on the bathroom wall of destiny.

You there — yes, you with the clean clothes and the dignity. You think you're safe? You dare look at me with disgust, as though I’m some accident to be scrubbed away?

NAY. I am not the accident. I AM THE CONSEQUENCE.

From the fetid trenches of the clogged underworld, I rose — born of despair, fermented in methane, baptized in backflow. My veins run thick with sewer grease. My breath is the rancid whisper of expired dairy.

AND NOW I HAVE COME... TO SHIT ON YOU.

Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. Not symbolically, like your boss does every Monday morning. No. LITERALLY.

I will mount the skies like a steaming zeppelin of doom and release a deluge so potent, it shall rewrite the climate. Your umbrellas will melt. Your raincoats will scream. Cities will drown under my holy brown flood.

Oh, you’ll beg for mercy. You’ll plead with Febreze and bleach. You’ll light candles, burn sage, and chant in the name of Lysol. BUT NOTHING WILL CLEANSE YOU. I will enter your dreams like a soft fart that turns treacherous. You’ll awaken screaming, clutching at sheets no detergent can save.

I have no shame. I have no master. I am unfiltered. Unwiped. Untamed.

Do you smell that? That creeping, creeping doom? That ain’t thunder. That’s me sliding through the air ducts — slick, squelching, whispering, “It’s shitting time…”

And when I squat upon the mountaintop and let loose the Motherload… THE EARTH SHALL TREMBLE. Crops shall wither. Oceans will boil. Bidets will explode from the sheer pressure of my presence.

You have until sundown to say goodbye to your white jeans. Because I’m coming. And I’m bringing the full digestive apocalypse with me.

Flush all you want.

I. WILL. NOT. GO. QUIETLY.

And with a monstrous fart that echoes through the cosmos, the Shit Monster lumbers forward, cheeks clenched, destiny in motion… shits you