Dishing the dirt on dirt

by Ken Carpenter

The main thing many people have against dirt is, well, it’s dirty. That’s also the thing people who like it find in its favor. A little grime on a guy can be manly, a dirty-cheeked boy is the most natural thing in the world and a smudge on a pretty lady’s face can be endearing.

            Mud pies are cool up to a point, unless you are one of the starving Africans who actually have to enhance their diets with dirt cookies, just to fill up. That is not cool, I can’t imagine the desperation in their lives.

            It takes 500 years to form one inch of topsoil, and one tablespoon of soil has more organisms in it than there are people on earth. We all eat our share every day too, even if you are one of those ballistic dirt haters. You can’t help it, it’s part of life, and there would be no life without it. Dirt makes the world go around.

            Soil is 49% Oxygen, 33% Silicone, 7% Aluminum, 4% Iron and 2% Carbon. I mention that for only one reason: boob jobs. If you prefer, you can call it breast enhancement, but whatever you call it there is still the odd fact that dirt is 33% Silicone and enhanced bosoms are about 33% Silicone.

            Now you can just forget about it. It is a trivial thing that has no explanation or importance. If I didn’t have a dirty mind it would never have occurred to me to compare soil and surgically augmented breasts.

            Dirty minds are as common as dirty faces, so I don’t feel too bad about my affliction. In my mind, soiled though it is, the real dirtbags of the world are the ones who are tormenting us unmercifully with this horde of lying, dirt dishing, dirty trick, political advertisements that treat us all like dirt by showing a lack of respect and consideration for every American’s intelligence.

            I wish I could pepper all state and Federal politicians running for office with dirt clods. It would only be fair, they have been cramming dirt down my throat for months, hoping I don’t choke to death on it until I vote. After that, they could care less if I take a dirt nap or not. Bunch of clod hoppers I say.

            Man, sometimes I wonder about myself. From basic soil to boob jobs to political boobs without so much as a sidelong glance. It seems obvious I won’t hit pay dirt today.

            OK, back to the soil. There are 80,000 different types in Europe and the U.S. alone, coming in red, yellow, black, brown, gray and white. It takes around one acre of land to supply the food for each person in the world.

            Of course, it is not spread equally. One large rumped American might need seven or eight acres to supply him, while somewhere in the world a scrawny little urchin survives on 20 square feet.

            Greek philosopher Plato had this to say; “People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die.” Pretty wise words, even if they are exaggerated a bit, but it brings one question to my mind.

            How in the heck do you make a living as a philosopher?