A park. Rufus stands at his easel to paint a picture; the canvas is blank. Inspiration will come soon, I’m sure. A dog approaches and poops.

Rufus, mumbling to himself: I don’t know which color to select today: do I feel like painting something from my blue period, or do I feel like painting something from my red period? Or maybe I can mix the two periods together and have a purple period, but then I will have to change my whole oeuvre—what is that smell? Ah! Oh, god! This dog pooped! It pooped on my artwork! In my art space! How can I work in these conditions! Oh, barf, the smell!

The dog’s owner approaches.

Owner: Hi, don’t worry! My dog only eats organic, therefore his poop is organic. Don’t worry!

Rufus: Organic? Who cares if the poo is organic? I don’t want to smell it!

Owner: But I already told you: the poop is organic; therefore, the smell is organic. There is literally nothing wrong with this poo smell.

Rufus: Look, I’m attempting to draw down inspiration like lightning from the universe. I’m an important artist who is changing the world for the better—but how can I work in these conditions? With this smell?

Owner: Do you know what dirt is made of?

Rufus: No.

Owner: Dirt is the poo of a million dogs for a million years. Dogs and other creatures.

Rufus: But I don’t want to smell this particular poo right now: I’m making art. Do you know what art is?

Owner: But I already told you: the poop is one-hundred percent organic.

Rufus: I don’t want organic poo near my artwork!

Owner: Oh, sure, I guess you prefer genetically modified poo. Haha, you fool!

Rufus: That’s not what I said.

Owner: You implied it!

Rufus: I did not imply that I like genetically modified poo; I just don’t want to smell poo while I’m painting.

Owner: Your canvas is blank; are you painting?

Rufus: Well, no! Now, I am talking to you about your dog’s poo!

Owner: No one is holding a gun to your head; you can continue to paint if you want. Go on, paint!

Rufus: Would you please just pick up the poo and throw it in the trash? The smell!

Owner: Haha, hey, everyone! Hey!

Nearby, a man, woman, and child walk; they approach Rufus and the dog owner.

Woman: What is it?

Owner: You all won’t believe this guy: he wants me to use a plastic bag to pick up my dog’s poo!

Woman: Oh, god, that’s a terrible idea. Plastic bags are bad for the ocean.

Man: And putting poo in a bag stops nature from decomposing the poo into dirt. If you leave the poo in the open air, the poo decomposes in a day or two—depending on heat and humidity.

Child: What is dirt made of, daddy?

Man: Dirt is lots and lots of poo over millions of years, son.

Child: Gosh, daddy, you are so smart.

Rufus: I JUST WANT TO PAINT A PICTURE WITHOUT SMELLING POO!

Woman: Gosh, someone is a grumpy bear this afternoon.

Owner: Maybe you should move your blank canvas to a quieter corner of the park?

Woman: The duck pond is lovely today! We were just there, weren’t we, Timmy?

Child: Gosh, yes, we were!

Rufus: But I was here first!

Child: You could set up your art on cement; cement is not made of poo, is it daddy? There is cement near the duck pond.

Man: That’s right, son, cement is not the same as dirt. While dirt is made out of the poo of millions of years, cement was invented by the Romans and is maybe two thousand years old, but the Romans never came to this park, so the cement in this park would be one hundred years old at the most.

Child: What is cement made out of, daddy?

Man: Roman cement is limestone, volcanic ash, pumice, and an aggregate.

Child: Gosh, daddy, do you know everything?

Man: No, son, I just read books instead of watching television—and I eat all my vegetables at dinner.

Woman: And he does what mommy says, Timmy.

Man: That’s right, son, I do what mommy says.

Rufus: I JUST WANT TO PAINT HERE IN THE PARK FOR LIKE MAYBE, I DON’T KNOW, AN HOUR OR TWO, BUT MAYBE LESS, I DON’T KNOW, PLEASE!

Woman: It sounds to me like you would be better off moving your canvas–

Owner: Blank canvas!

Woman: Blank canvas to a different part of the park. Most of the crazy homeless people loiter on the south side of the park. Maybe you would find friends there?

Dog: Bark!

Child: Look, the doggy just peed on the artist’s leg!

Owner: That pee is one-hundred percent organic pee.

Woman: We only eat organic at our house!

Man: She wants to turn us all vegan, too, but I insist that the boy needs meat to become a man.

Child: Gosh, I’m going to be just like you when I grow up, too, daddy!

Man: That’s right son; daddy is awesome.

Woman: Daddy sure was awesome last night—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that aloud.

Child: What did daddy do last night, mommy?

Man: Daddy will tell you when you are older, son.

Rufus: PLEASE, I JUST WANT TO PAINT!

The end.