Day 0: The Resolve

I suppose I should have used “The Resolution” as my title, but my devotion to art will not allow me to use words that are more appropriate. Those of you who are true artists will understand what I mean. By obfuscating meanings, we hide our mediocrity from the world.

I wanted this blog to be about personal discovery and poop. I have learned much about these twinned concepts, mainly from the legions of proctologists and colorectal surgeons who have seen fit to leave comments and emails. 90 Day Henry has become its own entity. At the end of this hellishly introspective journey, I’m still left with my disdain for popular culture and I now have a rash that is exacerbated by brown rice and certain types of Tibetan chanting. I was horribly embarrassed by the number of people who caught me on my blatant plagiarism of Chuck Palahniuk. I honestly didn’t realize there were so many people out there who go to movies starring Edward Norton and Brad Pitt. What is a guy to do, if by citing sources he reveals his mediocrity? Some of you are heartless, unfeeling bastards. I’m looking at you, people who are even now fighting and dying in two wars it serves my solipsistic purpose to ignore. Selfish of you, isn’t it? What about my feelings? What about me?

My closeness to this art may have made it seem real to many of you. I want to assure you all that this project was indeed art, and not the emo equivalent of pulling the fire alarm in a public building. It was art, and not a pathetic, bottom feeding cry for attention, capitalizing on the most troubled members of our society. It was art, and not an attempt to feel smarter than everybody, or to feed my preconceptions about how people are mean and expect me to do things for myself. It was art, I promise. Stop rolling your eyes! I’m as serious as clown shoes on this point.

It is my feeling that the internet exhibits the best and worst of human communication. I know that is a profound thought, never before said by anyone. Take a moment and let it soak in….is my unique and radiant genius apparent to your tiny mind yet? If I were to die tonight in a horrible blender accident, I feel sure that thought will have validated my entire existence. It may be why I was put on this earth. Fuck poverty, or war, or politics…I made a broad, sweeping generalization about things I barely understand, and that makes me better than you. Mission accomplished.

One positive effect of this experience is all of the emotional voyeurism it allowed me to do. There were so many positive emails, from people who felt the same as I. It was a great accomplishment to harness their energy and support for my own “art”, rather than encourage them to help someone who really needed it. This proves how smart and hip and world wise I am.

Don’t get me wrong - I actually do all of this for you. I’ll prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt by typing that sentence over again.

I actually do all of this for you.

See? I’m glad you feel better and not taken advantage of to serve some emo girl in LA’s desire to have some, any, impact on people. Oops, I meant a guy in Denver…Uh.. Never mind.

I want everyone to know that I have accepted no money for 90 Day Henry. It’s not through lack of trying, though. I’m open to anything – book deals, movies, reality show, anything. Just leave your info in the comments section and we will get together and make more great art together.

To everyone out there – don’t poop in your pants. Four out of five dentists agree it’s not worth it. Just use the facilities and a cleansing technique of your choice.

~Fin~

Real Savage Henry here:

After my little diatribe, and 90 Day Jane’s saccharine bullshit about being an artist you owe it to yourself to check out this guy’s work. THIS man is a true artist.

Well, kids, it was fun for a few days. I'm strangely pissed off by this woman, and I can't stand living in her empty head anymore, even for the few minutes it took me to write these things up every day. I’ll put my regular blog back up in a few days, probably to your great disappointment. In the meantime, I’ll see you on the RMMB.

Semper Fidelis,

Savage Henry

Day 86: A Date

I got an e-mail today from a girl at work asking me for a date. I'm not sure what disturbs me more - the fact that she e-mailed me when we work in the same office, or the fact that I'm obviously a fig man.

Let's get real here - if you are going to have the sheer, bloody-minded temerity to ask another human being to rip the Fruit of the Date Palm from Mother Nature's tender embrace, you should at least have the common fucking decency to hire a calypso band and get Abe Vigoda to M.C. the event. What a thoughtless bitch.

I don't like dates too much, anyway. They've become so commercialized, and they come with certain expectations. I feel like I'm "supposed" to be enjoying them. I much prefer Fig or Apple Newtons.

I wonder if this is the attitude that got me here in the first place. Perhaps my violent advocacy on behalf of certain fruits, nuts, and vegetables goes part and parcel with my distaste for the Scott Paper Company and all like minded organizations.



In the spirit of my fast dwindling days with clean trousers, I gave her a prune.

Day 87: Responding to all your comments

I didn't expect this response from the public. In my daily life, no one speaks directly to me, or engages in eye contact because I'm so dark and mysterious. Obviously, the internet is different. I would much prefer sweeping legislation requiring people to communicate with me utilizing semaphore flags and interperative dance, but the heliograph manufacturers would probably block the bill while it was in committee. I guess I'll have to work with what I have.



I feel a sense of responsibility to continue this blog. I started it to be a public record of my pants pooping, and also a tool to answer the question of "why". Your comments are definitely helping me do that.



You have brought up questions I didn't think about: What will I do with my soiled trousers? Who will find them? Since there is a speed of light and a speed of sound, is there also a speed of smell? How will I let the readers of this blog know when I've "done the deed", as it were? I plan on answering ALL these questions and more as the day of pooping draws inoxerably closer. This is why I've chosen a ninety day countdown for my task - obviously eighty nine days is much too short a time to ponder these fundamental questions.



I want to assure you all that I read and appreciate all comments. Well, I'm not sure what else to say, so here's a picture of a monkey fucking a football: (No this isn't a viral marketing campaign initiated by Spalding or a manufacturer of monkeys)

Day 88: What to do with all my "stuff"

I'm looking around the bathroom this morning and wondering what to do with all this stuff. By all this stuff, I mean I had beers and buffalo wings yesterday. Obviously, I'd like to donate it to charity, or perhaps a museum. I don't think my friends want it, and my family probably wouldn't want it either. Maybe some of you have a crazy Uncle, but my Uncles are good guys.

How do I donate this?

It's not like I can call a farm or a fertilizer company and say," Good morning! I'm pooping my pants in 90 days, and I'd like to set up a time for you to come out after that." I'm pretty sure they'd hang up on me. Philistines.

Call me selfish, but I don't want to take the trouble to box anything up. My last days with clean trousers should not be spent finding boxes with waterproof linings. Plus, what would the CDC or al-Aksa Martyrs Brigade think if they saw this? Pretty suspicious, isn't it?

All in all, I have 88 more days to figure it out.

I can't help but think, though -what about all my boxers, spurs, assless leather chaps, belts, mint flavored condoms, socks, jeans, khakis, etc....Hell, I don't even want it all. I guess I could spread it around the house in some sort of interperative logic representative of major economic trends when I poop my pants, but I don't want to seem melodramatic. I want people to understand how serious this is. I am a unique snowflake - my suffering is individual to me alone and terrible. Nothing in life matters, and I'm so much cooler than you by rejecting clean trousers. When I do this, people are going to sit around and cry," Remember when Savage Henry had clean trousers? If only we'd have listened, and given him respect and accolades he didn't earn!" Even though I'm not emotionally honest enough to say so, that's what I want people to think. As much as I may deny it, I'm either engaged on a viral marketing campaign or trying to make people feel bad.

Hmmm...Ok. I guess the least I can do is box it up. Perhaps a three legged migrant farmer in Djibouti can buy it on E-Bay and use it for his fields or array it tastefully on his mantlepiece.

Day 89: What's up with pooping in your pants and homeless people?

There are some people who live on the streets in my city who really romanticize the act of pants pooping. Is it supposed to be a cleansing act?

Here you see a homeless man just finishing a mega dump set to Pachelbel's Canon in D Minor. What was he trying to accomplish with this? Some sort of cleansing act? Is he trying to enter the Matrix? In addition, this person seems to have forgotten his stupid looking pants. I mean, he's just going to have to put them on again later!

No thanks. When I poop, I'm going to leave my pants on. Why take the extra step just because society says I should? Society just doesn't understand how special and unique I am. I'm such a nihilist.

The Decision

Today is day 90. How did it become day 90? Well, it was before day 89, and after day 91. That I am sure of.

With roughly three months to look at my life from a sanitary perspective, I wonder what realizations I'll have. Will I suddenly care about the fiber in my diet? Will I eschew red meat or legeumes? I doubt it. I'm not that sentimental. It's a truly digestive thing I do now (was that Pepto Bismol? ha ha) and I plan to live my life as I always have, but with this new perspective: I'll go to work, I'll have a social life, I'll date, I'll press wildflowers, I'll celebrate, and then I'll poop my pants.

I guess, though, on the day I decide this, I should probably say why. That's what this blog is for. This blog will state publicly why I have made this decision. Maybe it will help my writing? I don't know.