Oh, my dear old friend, the enema film. I love you so much. Your beauty is such as a perfect brush stroke performed by Ghirlandaio. It is such as a baby's first step on its own. The light that shines from within you mesmerizes me. You paralyze me with your brilliance, enema film.
At your core, you surely represent all that is beautiful and right in this world. For you see, I understand you. No one around you can fathom your brilliance. No one has the patience to step back, muse, and reflect inward upon themselves.
Can they not see how purely you relate the human condition? Let us consider...
We begin with two characters. A woman who is receiving the enema, and a woman who is administering it. Does no one realize that this reflects stale, empty, heartless society encroaching on the purity of the human spirit? That of the human dream? Essentially, that which makes us all human?
Does no one see how, despite a little bit of lube to calm and numb the experience of life, a tube is still being shoved up your ass? The administer then proceeds to fill the asshole of the world until it simply cannot take any more. Until it is ready to burst forth from all of the burden, all of the hate, all of the inequity.
But like a phoenix, we fight back. We reach for the bedpan, and we let it rip. We let it rip so fiercely, so uncontrollably, so PASSIONATELY, that not only has that which has been forced on us been expelled, but also all the shit and dirt that we've been taking before.
Enema films represent a cleansing of the soul. A return to a primitive, pure form of being. They are beautiful and wonderful, and I am crying like a baby right now even typing this. There is nothing else on this earth that comes close.
I'm going to go donate to charity. I'm going to give to the poor. I'm going to stand on the highest building, close my eyes, and just let the wind wrap around me and take it where it will.