In "A Poo Sandwich: The Essence of Reality," reality is revealed as something paradoxically simple yet radically elusive. Once we've swallowed that sandwich (both spiritually and existentially), the question naturally lingers like a nasty aftertaste: what comes after reality? And more importantly: what do we do with the idea that we treat reality as an object? A thing. Just like a citrus juicer, a clothespin, or any other pathetic object you find in a drawer when searching for meaning?