Who the hell is Bob Shetterly?

This is Bob Shetterly. No, not really. This is a drawing titled "Why do angels only sing to us through our longest hairs?" by my favorite Maine artist, Robert Shetterly. If you're not familiar with him and/or his work, check it out http://www.americanswhotellthetruth.org/. He and his work are fantastic. But to the lil' man, this IS Bob Shetterly. The lil' man likes to enjoy his second breakfast of blueberry Chobani with Bob Shetterly. He enjoys snack time with Bob Shetterly. When it's raining out, the lil' man eats supper with Bob Shetterly. And the lil' man LOVES to eat Cherry Garcia with Bob Shetterly.

But most importantly, the lil' man likes to ask Bob Shetterly questions. Bob Shetterly eat yogurt? Bob Shetterly eat Cheez-its? Bob Shetterly eat cream cheese? Bob Shetterly eat cherries? Bob Shetterly eat sausage? Bob Shetterly drink milk? You get the point, the lil' man holds up (like an offering) whatever he is consuming to Bob Shetterly and asks, "Does Bob Shetterly ..."?

That is, until yesterday's second breakfast. The lil' man asked Bob Shetterly a very personal question, "Bob Shetterly have stinky poop"? Oh boy, I can't wait until the next time I see Rob! Hey Rob, you incredibly talented artest, "Does your poop stink"? I mean, he's a pretty down to earth guy, so I can only imagine that he'll say "Yes, my poop IS very stinky". But really, doesn't everyone's shit stink?

I mean, except for the Prius driving professor. This is what I imagine. Professor gets out of bed at 10am. Puts on fuzzy slippers. Slips on the robe that his father used to wear. Goes down stairs. Fires up the 800$ Rancilio and makes a triple espresso. Opens the front door. He (no matter where he lives) picks up the New York Times off the top step ('cause who really cares about what's going on in the local community).  Stands at the counter. Gently unfolds the newspaper and sips the espresso. He attempts to read the newspaper, but is distracted by the stressful day that approaches (teach the same class he's been teaching for 27 years at 1:15 and office hours from 2-3). A rumble. Goes to the bathroom. Lifts the lid to the Toto. In one motion, as he sits, he grasps a copy of Being and Nothingness off the Toto tank (you know the copy, it's been there since the beginning of time). Contemplates existence, but will never realize it's simplicity. His buttock cuts off one single, perfectly shaped, golden brown turd. He grabs two sheets of Seventh Generation toilet paper. Perfectly folds it in two. One wipe. Flush.