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Mud by Rhys Jones

I eat mud.

There, I’ve put it out into the world, my secret. Not really sure when or why I started eating mud, I think I’ve been doing it most of my life. But I eat it.

In the morning I have a bowl of mud, lunch is a mud butty and then for tea I have mud and three veg. I mix that up now and then, like I might have mud and chips or beans on mud. In the summer I make and freeze mud on a stick. Mud is a large part of my diet.

You might be thinking that you can’t live on mud and you’re right you can’t. My love of mud is killing me, but I just can’t stop eating it. I love eating mud, the gritty feeling, the sloppy texture and how it makes me feel like a bad boy for doing something so wrong. Mud is great.

Society frowns on us mud eaters but I don’t care anymore. I eat mud and I don’t care what people think. Surly how I choose to live my life isn’t anything to do with you? So what if you think it’s weird, you’ll just have to accept that I eat mud.

It’s killing me, eating mud. But that’s my choice. I would rather die of doing something that I love with all my heart than live without it in my life, because to me that isn’t a life at all. That might sound stupid to you, and maybe you’re right, but what is the point of a life if it’s devoid of the things we love?

While you sit and ponder that, I’m going to go and have myself a massive plate of mud, and believe me when I say I will love every mouthful of it.

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