My butthole speaks to me. It gives me advice about how to live. It tells me what I'm doing well and not well, and when I need to chill out. Sometimes my butthole stabs me with knives or burns me with battery acid. Tough love. We're friends though.
Sometimes my stomach or heart will pick a fight with my butthole. The other organs don't respect the butthole. They'll make fun of it and say things like "Hey butthole you're nothin' but a poopshoot. All you do is sit in the ass, shootin' poop, and shootin' the breeze. Easiest job there is. Must be nice." Sometimes I have to tell those other organs to shut up and get back to work. Sometimes it's not easy being the boss.