Well, That's Crappy

I have spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening reading some of the stories and the comments at The Poop Report. If you’re a regular reader of this column you will have noticed I have no fear at all of talking about farting and normal stuff people do all the time. Why this is, I really don’t know, though, the family I grew up with had a real barnyard sense of humor and the man I married was no different. Anyway, I was googling information on why my butt is sore. It comes and goes and actually isn’t anything I really want to talk about right now, though, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Butt, I happened upon The Poop Report.

I’ve now registered at the site and will henceforth be known as Psychic Pooper. Everybody selects a name that somehow reflects their interest in poopy matters. Some names that caught my eye were Bunga Din, The Dumpster, GottaGoGirl, PooperScooper, C Everett Poop, MasterCrapper, The Holy Shitter, Mega Dump, HairyPooter…it’s just hilarious. The stories are well written. Concerns people write in about are valid and many times are things you just can’t talk to other people about.

Anyway, one of these days after I’ve read a little more and learned the etiquette of the site I will probably write about how Jeannie and I created a masterfully authentic counterfeit turd and took it to school. We were in the 10th grade in Hagerstown, Maryland at St. Maria Goretti. We left it in a stall in the downstairs bathroom. This was between classes and the bathroom was crowded with girls. We left just as Sister Phyllis went into the stall where we had positioned the turd, stuck artfully on the seat and trailing down into the water. We were almost dying of laughter as we left. The only thing missing was an odor. As I recall it was mainly constructed of mashed potatoes. We’d added cocoa for color and some corn for visual effect.

And, now, she’s your psychic.

Well, will wonders never cease.