Here we see myself, Ass Phlegm, the new Mrs. Ass Phlegm, The Big Wiper and Will. Look -- I forgot my deodorant, and it was really muggy. I'm grossed out, too.

The night before the ceremony, the four of us met up at Kurt's dad's place to get acquainted and gossip about people we've never met before. ("What do you think Doniker looks like?" "Who do you think Dakota REALLY was?" "Does G Ras really only shit once a month?")

That evening, I also gave Ass Phlegm a present on behalf of PoopReport.com: his very own GoBidet. He loved it. Mrs. Ass Phlegm loved it. A report is forthcoming.

The Big Wiper really did wear a tuxedo shirt.

After the wedding, we shot the shit. Ass Phlegm's guests, hearing that we were from a poop website, looked on warily.

Teed Off Turd crashed the reception, threatening to contaminate the punch unless Ass Phlegm finally finishes the next episode of his continuing adventures.

Ass Phlegm assured TOT that a new comic was on the way, now that the whole wedding business was finished. TOT seemed mollified, but grew angry again when Ass Phlegm ran out of Jack Daniels. It wasn't pretty; Mrs. Ass Phlegm's wedding dress was ruined.

A trip to the drug store solved my little armpit problem. That was really embarassing.

HANGIN' WITH MR. POOPER

PoopReport has fans running the gamut from the Upper East Side all the way to Brooklyn. So when the one in the Upper East Side suggested we get together, I called the one in Brooklyn and north of 59th Street we did venture.

Hairy Pooter and I met Crapola and her husband, The Metatherapist, at a fancy pizza place in the 90s. We enjoyed food and beer and especially getting stared at by everyone around us when we held up these signs.

They're pointing at each other because Crapola has a tendency to report her husband's poop. Why, incidentally, is he The Metatherapist? Here's why.

After our meal, Crapola took us back to her apartment for a dramatic recreation of this story (originally a PoopNews email exclusive) -- in the very elevator it took place so many years ago!

Meet Easter Joy Bunny, standing (appropriately) next to his litter box.

HANGIN' WITH MR. POOPER

My little sister lives in San Francisco, so as a responsible big brother I dutifully went out to visit her. It turns out that four loyal PoopReporters -- G Ras, PooperScooper, Poopshipdestroyer AKA M. Cortez, and Sarah -- also live in the area. So we gathered to drink $2 margaritas and talk about PoopReport.

Me, Poopshipdestroyer, G Ras, PooperScooper, Sarah. We're all holding PoopReport stickers, which apparently don't photograph real well.

Four or five $2 margaritas into the night, some people came up to us and demanded that we do karaoke. We acquised, but we had to find an appropriate song. "Sweet Georgia Brown?" "Hurts So Good?" "Cheek to Cheek?" "Moon River?"

Eventually we decided on "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," cleverly substituting an "i" for the "o" in "shot." We found it hilarious. The audience thought we were dumb.

Also, with the exception of the chorus, nobody knew the words. Sorry, Pat Benetar.

HANGIN' WITH MR. POOPER

Kathryn is the genius who designed the PoopReport logo. She lives in Denver -- which happens to be, by complete coincidence, my hometown. Since all my high school friends have either left or I hate them, I don't really have any friends in Denver anymore. So whenever I'm home, I call up Kat and ask her to have beers.

Me and Kat. I'm on the left. I think we're looking at God.

We were going to take pics inside the bar, but she didn't want to -- "I have to show my face in here again!"

Ooooh, artsy. Oh, I swear, I don't normally look so smarmy. This picture makes even me hate me.

HANGIN' WITH MR. POOPER

I happened to be in North Carolina this weekend to visit my girlfriend's family. During my trip, I had the distinct honor to have a few beers (at noon) with the esteemed PoopReporter Che Guanovara.

Che is on the left. My digital camera sucks sometimes.

Our servers, Whatshername and Liz. They didn't react negatively to holding poop flyers, which increased their tip dramatically.

Che took some spilled beer, added a few stink lines, and created art. Genius!

You can read about what Che thought of me on the Forums.