Fire and rain do it. So do cobras, kettles, whirlpools and penises. They all spit. And spit spits too, when you spit on fire. Spit’s everywhere. It’s as common as dirt. Given that billions of mammals produce spit everyday, if you put us all together we make a living sea of spit. And that doesn’t include the blood, nails, feathers, words and vomit we spit out. We swear by spit: Standing on the spit jutting out into the water, the man says, “I’m so fed up with those blasted people I could spit.” And when he does, he’s just spitting in the wind.
None of this would amount to a bucket of spit if all spit had the same value. But alas, there is a hierarchy of spit that extends all the way from the gutters to the heavens, from the deadly to the divine:
Like it or not, we live and die by spit. Because when the gravediggers finish digging our grave, our loved ones bury us in a spit six feet deep.
- Then there’s the spit that gets gobbed on the ground and pathways by spit fiends intent upon making everyone live in their sewer. They make sure that they collect and hold their gobs until you’re within spitting distance, because it’s their way of peeing on you without the police coming and hauling them off. Sometimes they get roasted on a spit by the law anyway, because freelance street spitting is illegal.
How about those of us who don’t simply live by their spit, we actually live on it too? Because if we spit on a long, narrow strip of land that juts out into the sea, we’re spitting on a spit. As in, spit for spit in a Spitter’s Paradise.
You can cheat with spit. If you spit on a baseball and throw it in a game, you’re spitting in the eye of the rules. Ask any spitballer. They’re not hard to find. They’re the ones who shine your apple for you by spitting on it and clean your glass with their spit.
How about the spit you get over the phone from spammers using IP telephony? Their aggressive spit never touches you. It goes straight for your wallet.
Someone sneezes into his hand, then picks up a cookie and offers it to you. Yum. Makes you want to chew him up and spit him out, preferably fresh off the spit.
The high and mighty shacked up in their castles in the air on the top floor of skyscrapers: These people look down at us and say in every way, “I spit on you.” No one has to tell them to spit it out.
Don’t throw away that spit: “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, he doesn’t give a spit.”
People tell you that you’re the spitting image of so-and-so. Now this one can be cool or ratty. If they’re saying you’re the spitting image of someone beautiful like Audrey Hepburn, that’s cool. But if it’s their pet toad you’re supposed to look like, then it’s time someone cleaned their glasses with spit and polish.
Ritualized spit: Buffo meatheads spit in one hand then the other to get a better grip before engaging in sports or a fight, then they keep spitting as part of a code signal or he-man ritual.
Potent spit: There is forensic crime scene spit full of DNA, etc., that can help solve crimes, and there’s spit full of pathogens like HIV that can kill.
You’re spitting when you impale, pierce or stab something or someone. That’s why ye ole nine inch jolly Roger Dooflicker is a spit.
Spit is a deadly weapon. When you’re spitting mad and hurl a load at your opponent, you’re engaging in assault.
Someone offers you a bite of their half-eaten donut. You graciously decline, all the while thinking, “You kidding?! No way am I going to eat any of that. It has your spit all over it.” So then you put the donut aside and share a kiss. But sharing a kiss is at the top of the hierarchy because that’s where the spit is. Oh yes. So let’s seal that with a big, fat juicy kiss.