Huffington Post There are terrible jobs, but few are literally as crappy as the one chosen by S.S. Singh. He’s a professional scatomancer, the name given to people who predict the future by analyzing fecal matter. “It’s a lost art. You’d be surprised how accurate it actually is,” Singh explained in “Journey To Planet Sanity,” a documentary debuting Dec. 6 in theaters and iTunes. The film concerns self-proclaimed skeptic Blake Freeman who is traveling around the country with his friend, Leroy Tessina, who has spent his life savings on trying to protect himself from aliens and paranormal ghosts by buying gimmicks and entrusting psychics. In order to get Tessina to agree, Freeman enlisted Singh’s s**t-reading services. The first step was to have Tessina leave a stool sample in the toilet. “When you’re done, please don’t flush,” Singh said. Then he went in and brought out the poop in a nice bowl and set it in front of him. To get in the spirit of this solemn occasion, Singh burned sage and waved his hands over the bowl with Tessina’s poop and residual toilet water. Then he spoke. “So, you’re in a transition right now,” he said. “The nugget suggests you support a friend or family member in a project. “The log shaped like a cigar suggests leadership, strength, length longevity.” What happened next shocked Freeman, who was already having a hard time keeping a straight face. “You’re just going to pick that up with your hand?” he asked. “You have to get into it,” Singh replied. “The stronger the aroma, the more accurate the prediction.” Freeman’s response: “So this [prediction] must be spot on.” After looking, feeling and smelling the poop, Singh declared that Tessina should accompany Freeman on the journey. Freeman was happy with the reading, but not necessarily convinced. “I told him that and I haven’t even touched his doody,” he said.
I’m not sure if you can see the future in my feces, but I am damn sure that you can tell a lot about my past by examining it. Right now, you can tell that I currently absolutely hate myself because of my drinking problem and the fact that I ate 20 hot wings last night, which has caused carnage in my stomach today. If S.S. Singh wanted to examine my logs, he would be shit out of luck, there are no logs to examine today. Just a sludge that smells like hot sauce and burns violently each and every of the eleven times I have been on the toilet, and has caused me to contemplate suicide. So if S.S. Singh smells a handful of my crap and sees me stepping in front of a train on the commute home from work, he might be right after all, but that would not be hard to predict from looking at my feces. That would be pure common sense, and could be easily predicted by any man who has ever chased 20 hot wings with 11 Miller Lites and knows how I’m feeling today.