Intellectual DIscussion on Toilets

What is up with the music accompanying this video? Whoever added the music must have thought very highly of the lecturer/lecture.

Poo nornalization: The Moralization of Poo

Funny. The road to the normalization of poo. I really don't understand why the people in this sketch are so weirded out.

Phase 1: Understanding that pooing into your hand is normal and everyone should accept that. Phase 2: Understanding that pooing in front of people is OK. Phase 3: Replace or append words in the english language with "poo." Or simply understand everything in life in regards to poo and how poo is connected.

example: "There are many goats on the hillside over there. Do you think they stay on that hillside their entire life?"

CHANGE TO: There are many poogoatspoo on the hillpoo over there. Do you think they stay on that hillpoo their entire poolife?

Go forth! Spread the gos-poo-el!

Seismic Activity

Ok. So there is about to be a big earthquake. My spider sense is tingling.

1 giant volcanic eruption near the island of Tonga.

1 7.9 earthquake near Tonga

1 volcano erupting in Alaska

2 foot deuce dropped in work toilet at 9:00 AM Monday morning. Fueled by 2 days of body magma (AKA Indian food) bubbling in my digestive track.

I hope you have your earthquake survival kits ready.

I've got a secret

My shoes spark muffled echoes on recycled carpet. I walk past the head honcho's office - his head is buried in recycled paper. I whisper, "I've got a secret." He looks up, no one is there.

"Oh, hello Janet," I sprightly blurt out my mouth like verbal shit. Friendly niceties continue as we walk past each other "I've got a secret." I inaudibly mutter under my breath. She acknowledges me with a smile. She knows nothing of the nature of my secret.

My secret lingers, not as a scent, but as a feeling. I walk these halls with phosphorescent shadows identifying only half my face - my other face smiles too. Not for others, but for my secret. The secret feeling that lingers.

Not more than a few moments ago, a chocolate behemoth just passed through my rectum and my anus lips kissed him goodbye on it's journey to the ocean. I can still taste that kiss on my lips. My face eyes close, and i remember our embrace and the last time i saw him.

I never saw him again.

My face eyes open. I'm at work. Busy bees hustle, ignorant to my secret. Ignorant to love. A few hours later, I've forgotten that chocolate behemoth. I'm now captivated with the sensation that lingers from a dozen tiny brown soldiers.

I see my boss.
"...I've got a secret."

Geologic Bubbles

At work when I flush my stuff down the toilet one of either two results occur:

A.) A gigantic rush of water sucks down the waste immediately in a powerful flush akin to Poseidon demanding it for his underwater kingdom.

or...(My Favorite)

B.) The toilet struggles to take my waste. It gurgles, and bubbles a very audible grunt in an effort to slowly swallow my log(s). It's very similar to what I'd imagine bubbling magma in Hawaii or geothermic streams sound like amidst a smattering of seismic activity.

My favorite is B. because it really makes me feel like I accomplished something.

That is all,

Obama be with you.

Pooing before a healthy meal.

Ahh, Saturday morning. A time of relaxation, contemplation and breakfast. Sometimes a little stress accompanying the task of getting everyone out of the house, but worth it knowing a healthy meal will be shoveled into my mouth in a matter of minutes.

One particular Saturday morning found me exiting the door with a log hinting at its exit as well. I shrugged it off, thinking to myself, "Oh, this is nothing, I can hold it." This thought was followed by the usual argument with friends on where to eat because you know someone always has to suggest another, more time-consuming place.

If you know me, then you know I am a fan of efficiency and I tolerate little dissidence in my social circle. I rule with an iron fist and loathe factions to the extent that I would gladly kill for the "greater good." So, under this ideology I chose a very good Mexican breakfast joint a mere 100 yards from my house. It would be the greatest decision of my life.

As soon as I ordered my Juevos Rancheros, I began to get the shakes. Again, I thought to myself, "Oh this will pass, be strong for just a few seconds and wait till after breakfast." Now, I think this thought was a result of my love for efficiency; a subconscious mantra that I have developed in various forms in this blog, "Hold your poo, finish breakfast, poo out this poo with the breakfast you are about to consume."

Before I continue this tale, I also need to point out another factor governing this poo. Although, I poo in public places all the time, I don't like too and I knew this poo would require a fair amount of attention. I did not want to be rushed through any part of the process because of another impatient breakfast eater.

Although, I had the strength to hold my poo through breakfast, I would be burdened with holding my poo through breakfast. Needless to say, I would not enjoy the meal. And let me tell you, this was not an internal dilemma, everyone at the breakfast table was privy to my vocalization of this conflict.

Then a great opportunity was presented to me. Home was not more than a 3 minute walk away. I could go there, poo, and probably return before breakfast arrived. And so, I made the greatest decision of my life. Went home, poo'd a unhealthy poo that required a great deal of wiping and resulted in a great deal of stank. Returned an empty man, without a heavy burden on the mind, and enjoyed a great breakfast.

Peace be with you;

or if you are a religious man,

Obama be with you.

Fiberous poop

My cheeks tighten and I am casually aware of the need to drop a deuce. No rush here, I can already feel that this will be a clean poop. Whistling, i enter the bathroom sanctuary, and see it is all mine. I embrace the cold porcelain with my cheeks and proceed on my own terms.
A large brown snake drops from it's hole. Little moisture is present and that is a very good thing. It is always a burden when the snake sheds some of its skin and leaves remnants around it's hiding place. Not this time, thank god! My poo is dry and my anus lips are moist. I could not ask for a better excretion.
The whole process last no more than then 10 seconds. I reach for toilet paper, but i know I will not need it. I wipe, and my hypothesis is confirmed: no brown kisses for my underwear today! I close my eyes to relish the moment. MMMMMMMMMMM

Tomorrow, if i poo this well, I will not bother to wipe.

2 cups of Joe

I usually drink two cups of Joe in the morning. I finish the first one, grab the second and like clockwork I take a sip and I immediately have the urge to poo. So, I find the need to finish the second cup before I poo because I don't want to poo and then drink more coffee, thus, triggering a second poo. Usually, that second cup consist of me shaking violently trying to hold my poop and finish that second cup of joe. I will tap dance while chugging large quantities, scalding my throat, all the while nursing a curious prairie dog.
This tap dance is very similar to the one I make when sitting down on the toilet. Every so often I will "angry ant colony" (new term I've developed to describe diarrhea) at work. Unfortunately, the bathroom here can get pretty crowded and because I am such a puritan in every aspect of my life, I keep the angry ants at ease to spare neighbors the carnage. Honestly, there really is no point to this because having to hold diarrhea probably takes a few years off my life and the neighbors can surely see the James Brown type tap dance going on in my stall. Either way, they are alerted to my insecurities and my loose bowels, but still take their time.
Now this has happened so many times that I have to check the bathroom for occupants before committing to a diuretic poo within. What transpires after such an observation is a tortured walk down 4 floors to the 19th floor bathroom. I try and keep my cool and walk casually, for if I sprint, I will disturb the angry ants (I bypass the stairs for the same reason). I curse the elevator under my breath when it's delayed as usual and once I am inside, I curse it out loud for being the slow piece of shit it is (seriously, the elevators at work are motherfuckers).
Once I get to that bathroom, my pants are already half way off and, occasionally, someone may be in there too. Then my James Brown tap dance is accompanied by my James Brown grunts. Yet, the neighbors take their time.

Personified meditation

Hello friends,

Like a doe who plays in the soft grass, I have returned, delicately trotting the boundaries of the human condition. I need milk, so I find my mother's teat. It's engorged with sweet protein. I suck until I am full. I somersault and my spine shivers from the cold dew collecting on my fur.
Suddenly, my sphincter spasms. I quickly grasp it's contents with my diaphragm. I struggle to keep hold of the cliff's edge as I slowly tiptoe to seclusion. So much sweet milk ready to burst from my anus. Ahh, sweet sanctuary. I let go of the cliff's edge:

Falling through the air.
Content.
Exhausted.
Relieved.
I am a baby deer shitting my milk out.

I slowly prop myself up on my wobbly limbs. I am empty. I look behind and see mother's milk is now brown. Confused, I trot closer. I explore with my cotton candy tongue. Bleh, it's different.

I race back to mother to suckle and replenish.

I am a baby deer shitting my milk out.

This past monday

I walked into the men's restroom at work nice and early Monday morning. I had been eagerly anticipating a hearty poo since the night before when I devoured several servings meaty spaghetti. Later in the evening I felt "the familiar pressure" and sucked it back into my stomach for further digestion as not to waste my allotted leisure weekend time on fecal business.
Anyways, Monday morning I found myself in front of the bathroom's entrance. Half shivering from the weekend's excess and half convulsing from the repressed bowels that were about to explode their fury, I glanced at the brown stains smeared in the carpet. "Must be mud," I yelled as loud as I could to myself so i could hear my voice echo through the empty Monday morning halls.
My intentions clear, I was eager to shit and I believe the toilet was eager to have me shit in her. My poo was furious and fast and I sat around to contemplate the coming week.
10 minutes later...
2 maintenance workers walk in...
"Yup, that's shit all over the ground."
"We're gonna have to notify janitorial to get that cleaned up."

They leave.

I quietly peek my head out of the stall. Several shades of brown shit are smeared all over the tile. Light shades of brown fill the grout crevices. I immediately check the soles of my shoes. Thank god! nothing there. However, some poor soul tracked it within a 10 ft radius of the bathroom.

My theory is that some dude came into the office to work over the weekend. His wife made him a greasy breakfast which in turn, he barely digested and raced to the bathroom to shit out as held it for a very long car ride in his new Lexus. Half naked lying on the stall floor, he begins to crawl to the sink. Delerious from passing out from the intense bowel movement, he continues to shit himself and it plops all over the floor. He stands up, cleans himself off and walks to office tracking the shit everywhere on the way. Promptly, he types his resignation letter and leaves it with HR. Hr mistakes the presents from departed employee X as chocolate. The cycle starts over, only this time it's vomit.

THE END.

Liquid Gold!

Occasionally, I will eat something and my body will go and reject it almost immediately. Usually, it's something fried, french fries mostly, or something milky like a milk shake or yogurt. Sometimes it can be something mundane like pasta or an apple. Despite the fuel, the result is a yellow/brown liquid explosion that sprays from my anus like the prettiest Fourth of the July fireworks.
Because god hates my guts, this will happen to me at work. It is quite infrequent, but nonetheless a gigantic burden to unleash in a public restroom. I don't know about some of you readers (it's in the thousands now!) but I don't want anybody to hear me take a liquid crap. I don't know if it's a masculine thing but I always want my neighbor in the next stall to hear a healthy splash from well rounded, solid turd. I hold this philosphy dear to my heart and it surprises me how frequently i hear so many co-workers commit nasty acts of diarrhea with no remorse for their audience (I know about flushing the toilet while you unleash, it doesn't work, I still hear that wet fart and stream of chunky water).
When my sphincter spasms alerting me to my liquid burden. I clench my butt cheeks and head to the most solitary bathroom to immediately handle my shit. Occasionally, even the most solitary places have frequent visitors and handling my shit becomes an exercise in strength, endurance and mental anguish.
Most people would unleash and I'm pretty sure it's a generational thing or it could be an age to weak anus-muscle ratio. Nonetheless, I hold it when others are present and proceed to stay in a position similar to the Karate Kid's flying crane kick, slightly hovering above the toilet, teeth grinding and sweat dripping from my brow. The mental concentration required to hold diarrhea is on a metaphysical plane that likens it to transcendental meditation or a concept beyond contemporary doctrine.
Then release. It's funny, it all comes out in one giant explosion with not very much follow up. Then a laborious wipe and a long hand wash and it's back to business as usual.

A familiar pressure

2 cups of coffee this AM and 90 minutes later i felt a familiar pressure in the deep reaches of my anus. The fecal gods were urging me to visit the restroom. I obliged.
The poo was fast to leave and consisted of one solid piece. It was light brown, the color of efficiency and hope. Like sex, i stuck around the toilet for a while to really meditate on the euphoria surging to all parts of my body. This was a splendid poo, in fact this may have been a poop to be marveled.
The product wasn't big, nor an example of perfection; but the actual process, the very act of pushing the poo through my anus lips was the true marvel to behold. The abundant beauty in life surely warms the most frigid souls. Why does aggression, despair and greed exist against a backdrop of so much splendor? If man has created god, then surely we are capable of grander achievements.
Upon my return to my desk, I grab another cup of coffee. I must relive this miracle again and again. The magnificence of man will surely surpass his blunders.

Poop picture - funny

I have a friend who drew me this picture. Only in AMERICA, that's what I say! I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who says that?
Today was bagel day. Good times, but there were no tomatoes and it's tomato season! Bagel day without tomatoes is shit day, god damn Holocaust, shit day!
Speaking of shit. I took one today. It was about an hour ago and it was stubborn. After about 15 minutes I had to give up and just wipe it all out. That process took about 5 minutes and another 5 minutes to wash the stench from my finger tips.
I'm smelling my fingertips now and the smell lingers.

Poop Smeared in Hard to Reach Places

I poop at work quite often. This has been established before, but i need re-emphasize the fact that most of my observations on the state of pooping in America come from the work place restroom. There are other places I poop and they vary widely, especially as I have grown older and my fear of pooping in public restrooms has dwindled quite significantly. But I have taken extensive notes on my co-workers' poops.
One coworker specifically has captivated me with his complete disregard for cleanliness and poop etiquette. Now, i can write a billion blogs on what I have observed him accomplish fecally, but what I observed today raises general questions on the restroom as a communal space and what taking responsibility for your poo entails.
Today, I rushed into the bathroom stall to see a familiar site. Brown streaks smeared in the upper-most reaches of the toilet bowl. I'm talking just under the seat. A place where no water travels and once it gets dirty, it stays dirty until a little elbow grease can take care of it.
First off, the smear was so high up there are only three ways it could have gotten there:
1.) He practices yoga when he poops (Sun Salutation) and his asshole points skywards, offering his waste to the gods.
2.) He shits so strongly that it richochets off the water and bounces right back to wear it came from. I can't imagine what the wipe is like.
3.) He has a weak sphincter resulting in weak precision and wide poo trajectory.

Now, this a very fundamental part of poop etiquette that I have discussed before. You need to stick around after the wipe and flush to see what sort of damage you have done. Then you need to complete damage control. It's kind of Similar to the nature-aware mentality that states, "leave the camp-site cleaner then how you found it."
Seeing these hard to reach streaks of poo do not anger me as much as the terrible things I observe on a daily basis (i.e. the fools that have to pee in the stall toilet, but don't lift the seat or wipe the seat, leaving the beads of urine on the seat for the more stall-entitled poopers to either sit on or clean up). I think these streaks are represent a larger problem of the poorly designed American public restroom. Why are we not offered the tools to get at these hard to reach streaks? Why are we not offered a toilet that is totally self cleaning? If there was anything in the world that should be self cleaning, it should be a public toilet. I swear, considering the lack of poo etiquette in this country, we are only a few steps away from having all public restroom rights taken away. It's too much work to keep clean and current restrooms are not designed to handle all the messy people out in the world.
I was in Germany a few years back (7 years ago). Got dinner at a gas station (USA! USA!) and used their bathroom. The fucking toilet seat was self-cleaning. My god, we are so far behind. It's this type of sweeping innovation that needs to occur in our restroom facilities.

ENOUGH!

Spicy food makes for a spicy poop

Spicy food goes in hot and comes out hot. It burns my mouth lips and my butt hole lips. Enough said.

12 minute uphill hike

Time in Bathroom, 12 minutes...

Wipe was heavy like cream cheese spread across a bagel. Or was it like taking heavy cream cheese off a bagel? You decide.
Second wipe triggers another log. I question my ability to judge my bowels. They are tricky monkeys mischievously chewing gobs of banana. They punch each other's cheeks and laugh maniacally with each explosion of banana protein. Only when my body feels empty do i know my time on the throne is complete.

Second wipe, is still thick with my leavings. Several more deep wipes irritate my tender hole. I finish, body empty, toilet paper gone. Thick chocolate streaks decorate the bowl. Thick fumes decorate the air and hangs stagnant and rotten like dead moss on a willow tree. The smell tickles my nostrils and trigger a nose bleed. Blood trickles from my nostril and beads of sweat roll down my cheeks. One last wipe with tiny scraps for certainty's sake. Blood there too. Under my heavy breath, i vow to control these bowels once and for all.

Fecal Pasta

Poop Schedule has been thrown off kilter:

What seemed like a large load of waste turned out to be about 20 little pieces of poop. It looked similar to a Spaetzle dish, the delightful German pasta that makes a food lover's mouth water.

Some floated, but most sat at the bottom. Subsequent poops have yielded the same little guys. Must eat a full meal so i can beef up the waste.

Goal: Drink several cups of coffee and attempt a hearty poo by 10:30 AM this morning

In regards to wiping your ass and throwing the TP in the garbage can instead of the toilet

A few years ago a friend of mine complained of a college roommate who wiped his ass then threw the toilet paper in the garbage. He was justifiably disgusted by this practice, as I'm sure much of population is, because most people throw that used toilet paper in the toilet and flush it down. Despite always flushing toilet paper down, soon after hearing the story, I found myself contemplating a used piece of toilet paper. I glanced at the toilet and I glanced at the trash can. Toilet. Trash can. I dropped it in the trash can. What could be the harm?

When i was young, like around 4 years old. I experimented with wiping procedures a bit. I remember throwing the toilet paper in the trash can a few times. Also, I remember being reprimanded by my mother for wiping with a wash cloth. Sometimes, I'd save pooing for right before bath time and then wipe my bum on the bottom of the tub. It's gross, I know, but it was accepted during these experimental times. 4 and 5 year olds are learning and developing their own bathroom etiquette and I eventually assimilated to the norm.

So i had a break down in assimilation, or a digression in maturity when i threw that piece of toilet paper in the trash can. But I wasn't the only one using the bathroom. At the time, I was living with my cousin, who was also privy to the story of the TP garbage can dilemma my friend presented. The next day, I noticed a line of ants converging on the trash can. I looked in and saw the used piece of toilet paper covered in ants. My cousin also saw the ants:

"You see all the ants in the bathroom?"
"Yes," I replied hesitantly.
"See that they're in the garbage can?"
"Huh, weird. I guess I'll take out the trash."

The incident was left at that, but I'm pretty sure my cousin saw the item that the ants were so interested in devouring. Thankfully, she understood my fascination with exploring new modes of living and existing. She new i liked to change things up. However, i found out why some things are just meant to be accepted as status quo.

Triumph: Lack thereof

Fueled by two cups of coffee, my butt hole is beckoned to the restroom. As Captain Ahab's dead hand beckons his crew to follow him to death, so too does the toilet seat wave me over for a rendezvous of sorts. This is a man vs. machine conflict. Or is it man vs. himself? It's a combination of both:
The toilet seat is cold, the paper seat cover sticks to my ass and the bowl does little to contain the smell of various digested meats and vegetables. My poo is like molasses, thick and slow to leave the bottle. I cannot help but urinate; wetting the paper seat cover, pieces cling to my penis. Wiping is torture and my butt hole quivers under the stress.
I flush. Slowly pull my pants and underwear back up, and question whether I have even finished pooping. I quietly return to my desk, unaccomplished, tail between my legs, or is it a piece of fecal matter? There is no triumph in the men's room today.