Fame is a funny thing. You are the same person you always were. You poop as you always do. Except, suddenly, the Gourmet Channel is publishing rave reviews of your shit, while some others are complaining that your shit is not to their taste. This is quite nonplussing and confusing. How do they know your shit? You make sure your toilet isn't an Amazon smart toilet that ships your turds for Bezos to taste personally. You walk around the streets, and people are talking about your shit. Strangers approach and harass you, yelling abuses at you about how much they hate your guts. You can't help eating and pooping as usual. Now, you're suddenly very self conscious about your shit. You start drinking Kombucha, eating fiber, and turning back after each poop to examine the floating turds in the bowl with great interest, hoping they would meet public approval, and if not bring you praise, then at least let you get through the day unmolested. Not that you ever expected praise or blame for your shit. You are baffled and reeling. None of this makes sense. Fame has changed the rules of your world, and you just have to manage living in a world of absurd rules. Is it any wonder?
[#]Today #Fame #Philosophy
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