Flula, a young white German man, is onscreen, lying in bed and talking to the camera. It is 1:21am.
I cannot sleep. [yawns] I just receive email that say, "Flula! Let us have some coffee in the morning and we may shoot the shit." [his eyebrow twitches; he rolls his eyes and sighs] I think—list, you know, of things I like, I enjoy to do: Sleep, eat, make music. Shoot the shit? No. This sound horrible.
What happen when you shoot some shit? If it dry shit, now you have crumbs of shit everyplace. Like bottom of the bag of a Cheerios. Except shit! Smell horrible.
If it's some wet manure, from the cow or something—you shoot that? [makes disgusted face] Everyplace squirting. Like paint. Like paint of bucket. Just ffffwww. [makes gesture of exploding liquid] Who want to shoot the shit? Not me, no.
No thanks, Mike. I sleep. You shoot shit in your own house.
Posted by Melissa McEwan at Monday, October 22, 2012