While some people will come up with the most bizarre excuses to rationalize bad behavior, this just may take the cake: can running out of toilet paper be a justifiable reason for committing murder?
According to the Marion County Sheriff's Office, Franklin Crow, 56, was charged with homicide this past weekend for bludgeoning Kenneth Matthews, 58. Matthews is reported to have pulled out a rifle, to which Crow responded with the swing of a sledge. So badly was Matthews beaten, according to the news report, that he was recognizable only from his fingerprints.
Could bathroom tissue really be the catalyst driving men into a homicidal rage?
The news report doesn't provide details. Did the duo agree to take turns buying the Charmin and one hadn't kept his end of the bargain? Did Matthews have the habit of using huge fistfuls of the stuff, running through the household supply at an unreasonable rate and then not replacing it? Did Crow have an issue with anal retention and control over the dispensation of said bathroom tissue? Had Crow just shart himself, or maybe produced an ass-blasting mass of diarrhea and found himself paperless at a vulnerable moment?
We may never know what pushed these people to the point that one would reach for a firearm and the other would go berserk with a hammer. We can only make conjectures based on re-runs of The Odd Couple.
It's staggering just how much school toilets have featured in the news of late. Readers of one of my recent reports learned of locker room copro-chaos in California. Today I present you with two further events: bluster in the Bronx, and "You what?!" in Utah.
When I was at school, certain sadistic teachers seemed to take delight in denying pupils' requests to go to the bathroom. In one Bronx school, however, it seems that the teachers would have no problem with kids attending a call of nature during lessons; rather, it's the school administrators who are not too happy with it. They've mandated that only a mere fifteen-minute window of opportunity shall creak open each day for first- through third-graders. (login: pooppooppooppoop@yahoo.com password: poopreport)
Fifteen minutes? I mean, Christ! My stepson is in second grade and he pisses and craps more than our eight-month-old kitten does. If he were prevented from relieving himself, I would write a very strong letter to the school admin indeed.
This policy has put teachers at this school in a bit of a bind. According to the New York Post, "children have not been forbidden from using the bathroom outside their time slot. But teachers claim administrators have reprimanded them when they allow students to do so." The words of one teacher read like those of attorney trying to offer advice to his client: "I tell them to go at their own risk."
I wonder if some Stewie Griffin-like whippersnapper will end up planting a bomb in the toilet in protest? If they knew what happened in Orem, Utah, last week, they might get ideas. At the LDS Church Institute of Religion building at Utah Valley State College, two toilets were clogged: one with something that disappeared 'round the S-bend before it could be identified, and the other with what looked like "a battery with some wires, a small motor, and some cork," according to UVSC spokesman Derek Hall.
After over three hundred people were evacuated ("a good excuse to skip class," according to fire science student Eli Bowles), the bomb squad arrived to carry out a controlled explosion of the (thankfully) non-incendiary device. Half an hour after the device was dealt with, it was back to business for everyone.
It's fairly frequent, unfortunately, that we encounter turd terrorism in a bathroom -- but fortuitously rare that it's terrorism of the more Qaedaesque sort. According to Derek Hall, UVSC has received threats in the past. Was this device from someone else with a serious grudge? Or just someone who's watched that scene in Lethal Weapon 2 a few too many times? Whatever the motive of the prankster, I bet people at UVSC will now be checking their toilet bowls for multiple kinds of dirty bombs before dropping one of their own.
I'm sure that we have all seen someone walk out of a bathroom with a paper towel in their hand to avoid direct contact with the door. And we've all seen people who manage to avoid putting their hands on the door altogether. Some of us are even among those people, I'm sure. As we've discussed on PoopReport before, people just don't like to touch things associated with bathrooms -- they believe that the poop germs of the lower life forms who don't wash their hands are all over them.
So it's somewhat surprising to learn that bathroom door handles are not the dirtiest thing your hands usually touch. While this inexhaustive study didn't include a five-dollar crack whore's soiled underwear and the DVDs in the scheisse porn section of a German video store, the dirtiest thing most normal members of the population (in South Korea, at least, where this study took place) are shopping cart handles -- with 1,100 colony-forming units of bacteria per 1.55 square inches.
According to Kwon Young-il, an official at The Korea Consumer Protection Board, this is because "the area is larger than the others and people have more space to place their hands."
Hmmm. Next on the list were computer mice in Internet cafes, which had an average of 690 colony-forming units of bacteria in the same area. Bus hand straps came in third, with 380 units, followed by bathroom doorknobs with 340.
I'm not sure I buy that line about the shopping cart handles having more bacteria because they are larger, because the bacteria per square centimeter was measured -- not the entire surface area of each object. My reasoning is that even the cleanest people don't wash their hands before shopping, using the computer, or riding the bus. While it is true that more people will attest to washing their hands after using the john than actually do, as evidenced in this rather old CNN study, a majority of us do.
For people concerned about germs, this gives you new insight into when you should bust out the Purell. Stay away from shopping, public transportation, and internet cafes. After all, you don't know who's been clicking that mouse. It might have been that lower life form who didn't wash his hands after pooping.
First off is this email I received from Martin Sargent, host of TechTV's now-defunct Unscrewed with Martin Sargent -- a show on which I once appeared. "Hey Dave. Hope you're well. Unscrewed is long gone, but I'm doing a podcast (Infected by Martin Sargent) now and the latest episode featured poop quite prominently. I'd like you to check it out, especially my new celebrity feces guessing game, "Whose Poos?" I think you'll like it! If you'd like to link to the podcast, that'd be wonderful and greatly appreciated. Anyway, keep poopin'!"
I don't understand how anyone can have a podcast about poop without interviewing me at length, but maybe that's just my giant ego talking. Well done, Mr. Sargent.
In other news, Dave Ramos says: "I made this, with my real farts." Perhaps similarly, Arnold found the farts WAV page. Unrelated to that, Arnold also found something about dog poop from Rotten.com, but I can't access it at work.
Sam also unearthed a couple of entertaining pictures:
In addition to bird poop causing power outages and the fine for dog poop, Mr. Lahey has found the Fear of Defecation Clinic. From their site: "The Fear Of Defecation Clinic at The CTRN Phobia Clinic is entirely results-focused, so we charge you for the result you want: freedom from fear of defecation -- regardless of how long it takes." I think I'd like to send a PoopReporter in to take their course. Only $147! Of course, the Shameless Shitting Manifesto is free.
On a site dedicated to "absurd patents," someone found the toilet snorkel. After reading the description, it sounds pretty smart to me. After all, there is air in the vent... if it's between that and asphyxiation, I pick toilet vent air any day.
Dave from Turdzilla says: "Indipod had a strange publicity stunt by those car shitters. There is something odd about taking it with you in this instance that makes a roadside bush seem more private. It has to smell, there is only so many cubic feet of air in an SUV. I guess if you see a car with all the windows rolled down in winter then it may be Indipod equipped. An old paint can and a bed sheet would work just as well. I bet the potholes ruin the interior of these vehicles and reduce resale value."
Finally, Giovanni points out the art world missing the obvious: "You might find this exhibition by New York artist John Miller of some Interest. Notice that they never really mention shit in the press release, despite it so obviously being the real subject of his work. Stupid art world."
There is, it seems, a continuum of bathroom communication along which we all place ourselves. We've all been privy to people's cell phone conversations in public bathrooms; clearly, some people have no qualms about taking or making calls. Me, I'm on perhaps the more conservative side of the continuum, believing that bathroom communication should be restricted to emergencies: "Can someone pass me some toilet paper?"
Yet there are those who not only believe the bathroom communications continuum should be expanded, but also have the ability to shell out handsomely towards this end. Forget multitasking with your Blackberry -- according to the Wall Street Journal, some people are turning their bathrooms into "virtual satellite workspaces, with retractable desks or waterproof touch-screen monitors."
Take Greg Shenkman, for example. The CEO from San Francisco has a waterproof speakerphone in his shower and soon plans to install a computer in his sauna. For Shenkman, "the flow of information never stops." And Shenkman is just one of several thousand people splashing out on bathrooms with gadgets. Depending on how much money you have, you can get anything from a towel warmer with a built-in plasma TV to a tanning shower.
The bathroom is becoming a place to conduct more than one type of business, it seems. David Sussman, an engineer at Audio One -- a Florida company that has installed thirty expensive (up to $200k!) systems over the past year -- says, "There's not much sanctity left." Which gets us to the bit that PoopReport is interested in: surely it's not just showering and grooming. Some of these electronics freaks must be using their gadgets whilst on the toilet, right?
Well, the article doesn't give much away, apart from telling us that one guy will "cough to cover noises" when using his BlackBerry to call work.
In fact, the BlackBerry appears to be the main toilet-related gadget. BlackBerry Repair Shop in Houston repairs several of the devices every day. "There's something magnetic about a BlackBerry and a toilet," says Paul Normand, the company's president. The "BlackBerry dunk," as it's called in this article, looks like it will become more and more common.
As one who believes in using the bathroom for its primary purpose, I'm quite disappointed at what I regard as a push towards gadgetry for the sake of it.
It's not all doom and gloom, though -- there are some useful things to be found, such as the Japanese Neorest toilet by Toto. For a mere $5000, you get a machine with "heated seats, three bidet-like 'sprays' (front, rear and 'soft' washing) and warm-air dryer," plus a wireless LCD to operate the gadgets so you don't need to make hand-to-toilet contact. I reckon there will be a few germ-phobic people rushing out to buy one.
Hard, lumpy, pellety, runny -- we're never quite sure what kind of bundle we'll deliver into the porcelain receptacle when we unload our colons in the crapper. So imagine Colorado resident Selina Newman's shock when that bundle turned out to be not one of poop, but of joy. Instead of dropping a log after her bowels beckoned her to the bathroom, she produced a beautiful baby girl.
Three months premature, little Nevaeh ("Heaven" spelled backward) came into the world with a plop and a splash. Her amazed mama quickly called 911, telling the operator, "I was only six months pregnant and I went to the restroom and the baby is in the toilet."
The article goes on: "Littleton police officer Bob Carmody said when he arrived at the apartment, Newman told him the baby had been miscarried. ‘I looked in the toilet bowl and I could see movement, and the baby was enclosed in the sac and everything,' Carmody told Denver television stations. He pulled the baby out of the toilet with rubber gloves."
The police took the baby to the hospital, where -- none the worse for her wet arrival -- she will be cared for in the preemie unit until she has gained enough weight to go home.
Let this be a cautionary tale for all of us female Poop Reporters who are planning to bring children into the world. And maybe it's the perfect opportunity for an entrepreneur to come up with a baby-filtering screen that would keep an unexpected delivery from premature baptisms. This is one kind of toilet training we do not need for our precious newborns.
Unless you have a wood-burning furnace in your home, nobody likes to receive junk mail. However, you shouldn't get too upset about it -- after all, it could be worse. You could be getting gunk mail.
The motive for this is a mystery. It could be simple vandalism. Or perhaps someone who thought the mailbox was a toilet. If it was positioned anything like the one pictured below, I would not be surprised. The new mystery would be how they shat in the perceived commode.
However: being unfamiliar with Japanese norms, I am puzzled by the response of the Funabashi-Higashi Post Office. They plan to "return the cards to the senders after cleaning them and will also give the senders fresh New Year cards and towels as an apology."
I really don't think that I would want the card back -- clean or not -- after it had poop on it. What is truly bewildering, though, is the towels. Are they sending them in case the clean-up was not thorough enough? Are they commemorative of the New Year or the post office? I am baffled.
According to the police report, young Jose Gonzales was on his way home from a trip to our nation's capital where he and others had been lobbying on AIDS issues. He stepped into the bus’s convenient facilities to relieve himself -- and moments later, when the bus swerved to change lanes, found himself hurtling out the restroom's window and onto the shoulder of the highway.
Now, let's consider the logistics of this. Many of us have seen and even used restroom facilities aboard motor coaches. How might a peeing or pooping passenger find him or herself in a position to fall or be flung through a bus window? If Mr. Gonzales were standing up and peeing at the time, could he have lost balance on the moving vehicle and, in fact, managed to fall through the window? Are bus windows so large and close to the floor that this is possible?
I am pondering the possibilities. Anyone want to volunteer to duplicate the feat? (On a non-moving bus, of course.)
If you have ever had a yard, you have probably had the not-so-fresh feeling of stepping into a nice warm dog turd on the way to get your paper or your mail. It is one of those truly frustrating events, because there is no one around to take out your anger on. Well, Joel Krupnik of New York City got his chance to take his anger out on someone. He caught a Chihuahua pooping in front of his brownstone (no, really).
So did he run up and punt the animal across the street?
Did he turn the hose on it?
Did he pick up the little feller and squeeze it to death in his big meaty hand?
Mr. Krupnik seems to have his share of media exposure. Before this it was bloody Santa -- a controversy caused by a great Christmas display in front of his place that I would have been proud to have in front of mine.
So Mr. Krupnik was a controversial figure before this incident. Now it's worse. To some, he's the devil incarnate. To others -- well, check out the comments left by the locals on Gothamist.com. Indeed, one guy named Shoveler seemed to have a very New York attitude about it: "This delights me even more than bloody Santa! The Catholic school uniform detail is the cherry on top, as far as I'm concerned. There's NO excuse for not scooping, EVER (unless you happen to be projectile vomiting, in which case that's fine). Grab a handful of leaves for Christsakes! 13 year old girl + Grammercy + 4 lb dog doesn't add up to someone who deserves my pity."
Still -- I, SamDamnit, your intrepid reporter, have had a few run-ins with dog poop in my yard. I have often wondered what I would do if I caught the poopertrator in action. It is obvious that Mr. Krupnik went too far -- he may have some minor anger management problems. But what *is* the proper response to such an event? Would it be different if a human dropped trou in your front yard? I wonder if Mr. Krupnik would have picked up *that* poop and smeared it on the pooper.
It's not often one can say that politicians and civil servants get their hands dirty. But for a political aide in Canada's capital city recently, it was a case of, "Doo-doo? Can do!"
Last Thursday a chap visited the bathroom in Ottawa Public Library and found a toilet cubicle in a severe state of fecal disarray. Three hours later, with no action having been taken to remedy the problem, our man called the Chair of the Library Board, Councilor Rick Chiarelli. Upon receiving the call, Chiarelli said to his aide, Mike Patton, who had asked him what was to be done: "Just fix it."
Rather than get someone else to do his dirty work, the intrepid Mr. Patton himself went to the library to see what was going down. CBC News reports his description of what he saw: "Clearly someone was not feeling well and had a bit of a diarrhea issue, and it was all over the seat and the floor and the toilet, in the stall area."
"Diarrhea issue!" What a beautiful phrase.
Anyway, because the cleaners were elsewhere and therefore unable to deal with this "poo apocalypse" (another nice phrase there, Mike), Patton found a mop and bucket in the basement of the library and cleaned up the offending stall himself. Surely the problem was solved.
Nope. They were just beginning. Rather than saying "thank you!" -- which is surely the only correct response to this act, so clearly beyond Patton's remit -- "library officials complained [Patton] took work away from unionized workers."
You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, eh? I mean, come on -- if Patton had done nothing about the mess, I'm sure there would have been hell to pay for Chiarelli's department.
To his credit, Chiarelli refuted the library officials' protestation. "When there's poop on the floor," he said, "the first action has to be to clean it up, not send memos and form committees and that kind of thing." Well said, Rick.
Now, Dear Readers, what the hell are the "library officials" playing at? I'm sure that the snowed-under cleaners would have been glad to hear that they didn't have another badly-soiled toilet to beautify on that day. I also reckon that, if they knew who had cleaned it, they might have realized that there are some people working in politics who don't just sit behind a desk all day. Hell, it might even restore their faith in human nature.
I think that this incident reflects very well on Patton. If he's willing to clean up that sort of mess, he's obviously the sort of person who cares a little bit about the people of his city.
The library apologized to the public for any inconvenience. Maybe they also ought to apologize to Mike Patton for their shitty behavior. Come on, library bigwigs -- gratitude, not attitude!
In the fall of 2004, I chronicled the bathroom vandalism problems suffered by the Wheeler Basin Regional Library in Decatur, Alabama. Someone had been clogging the toilets with paper and smearing the stall walls with poop. The library's solution: to keep the toilet paper at the front desk, requiring anyone who needed to poop to get their bum fodder from the librarian.
On a sales call yesterday, I returned to Wheeler Basin and discovered the worst: the problem had not abated. A sign on the men's room door still directed patrons to the front desk to check out their Charmin.
A reference assistant named Tina explained to me that vandalism continues to occur from time to time because some male patrons do not return the toilet paper when they check it out -- leaving it in the stall, giving the perpetrator(s) the opportunity to further befoul the facilities.
While it does seem to me that a determined turd terrorist doesn't need toilet paper to perpetrate his destruction, clearly the toilet paper denial isn't working. Other than asking the front desk clerks to stand outside the bathroom door to see if the roll of toilet paper is in the patron's hand -- which, of course, is not going to happen -- there doesn't seem to be a solution to this gnarly problem.
When this story was first posted on the site, some people suggested that surveillance cameras might be the answer to catch the offender(s). At the time I thought that measure was too drastic; but in light of the continuing problems that this particular library is having, I think they might indeed be needed to catch someone brown-handed.
Such cameras are not inexpensive, however; and I can assure you that public libraries are notoriously underfunded. And as far as I know, librarians are not taught to include in their budget requests a line item for turd terrorism surveillance.
Daphne sends in this short film -- as she puts it (and I agree!), it's "the funniest bathroom thing I've seen in such a long time."
Good ol' Jaybowel phonecam'd this to me, saying, "This sign says 'POOL' but not from where I am standing."
Clustersnarf has discovered how doctors learn their little tricks. "Digital Rectal Examination is designed for training in male and female rectal palpation. Four interchangeable rectal units are included.
Logjam says: "Don't know, perhaps this is an old movie or been the rounds in the forums. But it not, I think it's worth a post."
Sayeth Larfus: "This bad boy examines your inner piping. It can even measure your intestines. I can see it now -- "My intestines are longer than yours!'" Larfus also found this great resource for anal itching and what might be the world's longest poop (caution: graphic!).
My dear wife Jenny discovered the spoon urinal (right). Thanks, darlingsweetiepoopookins!
Pinch A. Loaf says, "Not my writing -- I just found this in my netwanderings today. I thought it was very PoopReportish."
Scatoman says: "I found this on a site called Lemonzoo. Googling 'taco shits' and 'battleshits' led to my finding out that it's a clip from a film called Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. Nice bit of Farrelly Brothers-esque 'gross-out', anyway."
Chris wrote in to tell us he bought a t-shirt. Way to go, Chris.
My sister discovered this sign on her recent trip to Israel. Anyone know what it says?
Finally: I, Dave, your fearless moderator, recently had the pleasure of being an audience member at The Daily Show. Presented for your enjoyment: the (surprisingly mundane) audience bathrooms at The Daily Show studios in New York City.
Bonus: as we were walking back to the subway after the show, eagle-eyed Harry Pooter spotted this license plate.
School days: the best days of your life. Those salad days when life was easy, when you would chase girls who didn't want to date you -- and when, during a basketball game, your locker room would be painted with shit and piss. Well, that's what certain members of the Oakdale High Mustangs of Manteca, CA, will tell their grandkids after last Wednesday's away game at nearby East Union High. According to James Burns of the Manteca Bulletin, one of the coaches discovered that "the visitors' locker room had been sprayed with urine and smeared with feces -- a familiar mark in this recent rash of vandalism."
Recent rash? Indeed. According to the paper, there has been at least one other such occurrence in that school district: a bus used to transport cheerleaders from Weston Ranch High to an event at Oakdale was "broken into and doused in" enough urine to fill "two milk jug containers." That incident was allegedly perpetrated by students from Oakdale High.
And because of that incident, it appears that Oakdale is being blamed for turd-terrorizing their own locker room.
Burns accuses the Oakdale student body of "having a penchant for vandalism" because Oakdale's assumed culpability in the bus incident. He therefore concludes they must have defiled their own locker room at the host school. Elementary!
Elementary, rather like Mr. Burns's deductive skills. How could Oakdale have carried it out? After all, they were probably playing basketball at the time of the crime. Surely it would be damn near impossible to pull that off. Doesn't make any sense, does it? Talk about shitting on your own doorstep!
Burns's article is a typical example the media's inclination towards summary justice. It's unwise to say that two incidents make a pattern. Wait for a couple more acts of vandalism to occur, and then you might have a pattern emerging -- and only then would you be able to state with any credibility that Oakdale kids are hell-bent on fecal sabotage. Point the accusing finger when you know what you're talking about, sir!
It seems to me that students at East Union High most likely did the dirty deed -- perhaps as revenge for what Oakdale did to Weston Ranch's bus, but perhaps just because kids are jerks.
Because of the poop horror, Oakdale wasn't allowed in their locker room at halftime. Milling about in the hallway during the lull, they engaged in a "scuffle" with East Union fans. The police were called to escort the visitors out of town. All in all, it wasn't the best of days for any of the parties concerned -- but especially Oakdale, who lost 56-46, thus carrying the stain of defeat as well as that of shit and suspicion.
I often refer to my mate's farts as "smelling like roses." Of course, this is a bit of hyperbole on my part. But what if it were true? What if it were possible? Well, good news: some scientists at Philadelphia's Monell Chemical Senses Center are working to de-stink dung. As the Discovery Channel reports, "A chemist and a nose specialist have just invented a new compound that turns manure's stench into a 'pleasant-smelling' odor."
There are actually two processes that they are using. Both are intended for use on farms, and both for after the fact of excretion. One of them is an agent that, when stirred in to the poop, keeps it from releasing any vapor. The other, more interesting one is supposed to block your smell receptors from noticing the poop smell: "…one part of the process takes advantage of a natural phenomenon known as olfactory cross adaptation, which happens when the nose adapts to one odor and then becomes less sensitive to a second smell that is perceptually or structurally different from the first."
Basically, your poop smell receptors are the same ones that receive some other smells. If they bind a pleasant or neutral smell with the poop, you don't smell it at all.
It seems that we just need to find a way to make this a food additive. If we could do that, then we could finally possibly carry out the proposal made by Benjamin Franklin in his essay Fart Proudly. Mr. Franklin proposed an additive that would make one's farts smell good. As he puts it:
"To discover some Drug wholesome & not disagreeable, to be mixed with our common Food, or Sauces, that shall render the natural Discharges of Wind from our Bodies, not only inoffensive, but agreeable as Perfumes."
He believed that such an additive would make us feel more free to let loose the stinky goose, thus making us less anal retentive and healthier of mind and body. I ask you, dear reader, couldn't Dick Cheney do with a little freedom of the butt sput? Don't you think that Kim Jong Il might be a little nicer if he were not so bound up? Don't you think that some looser sphincters might aid in the pursuit of world peace? I'll leave you with Mr. Franklin's final say on the matter.
"In short, this Invention, if completed, would be, as Bacon expresses it, bringing Philosophy home to Mens Business and Bosoms. And I cannot but conclude, that in Comparison therewith, for universal and continual UTILITY, the Science of the Philosophers above-mentioned, even with the Addition, Gentlemen, of your "Figure quelconque" and the Figures inscribed in it, are, all together, scarcely worth a FART-HING."
Just imagine. No more mildew, no more fungus, and no more poo streaks. The scientists at University of New South Wales hope to make bathroom cleaning a breeze. Starting with titanium dioxide nanoparticles that absorb UVA light (sunlight) to activate oxidizing electrons, they hope to take this technology currently used in self-cleaning windows and tweak the particles so that they can be activated by higher spectrums of light -- like sputtering neon tubes. Once that is achieved, we are well on our way to a hands-off bathroom cleaning solution.
This begs the question: what about the toilet bowl? ABC News of Australia totally dropped the ball on the most important part of the story. That is why PoopReport is such an integral part of the blogosphere -- somebody has to catch the crap that these other journalists refuse to touch.
This self-cleaning process relies on light. But there is not much light in the toilet bowl. Even if the toilet lid is left open, the nasty under-ridge of the rim is not going to get any light. That is why I think these eggheads should hook up with the people at Johnny Light.
Watch the video on their site. The Johnny Light currently shines from between the lid hinges -- but I don't see why it couldn't be hung in the bowl, like those clip-on toilet bowl cleaners. Even better, the light could be built in to the nanoparticle-coated porcelain bowl. This could be the greatest thing since flushable toilets.
The planet has been a busy place poop-wise since last week. First we had a guy getting locked in a highway rest stop toilet stall in Germany when the latch froze shut. It took the local cops an hour to get him out. What's up with that? When a motorist with a burdened bowel seeks sweet relief at a roadside, he shouldn't have to pay for the privilege by being imprisoned in a frigid restroom cubicle for sixty minutes while the baffled gendarmes try to figure out how to ease open a frozen latch. A ratchet set and a minute of time is all it should take to get the door off its hinges. Or some hot water poured over the frozen door-catch to loosen the ice-stuck metal. Cops are never more than a few paces from a Danish and a hot cup of coffee, so one of those officers must have had the necessary steaming liquid (whether still in the cup or unleashed from a coffee-filled bladder) to get that bathroom door thawed out in no time.
Next, we had a church rectory in Dyer, Indiana, that was reeling from the destructive forces of animal poop -- thirteen years' worth of it, to be precise. When a new pastor took over the helm of the Catholic house of worship recently, he found that his predecessor had a penchant for keeping pets in the living quarters adjacent to the church. Unfortunately that prior priest did not seem to have any housekeeping skills. The replacement priest, the Rev. Terry Steffens, was greeted in his new digs by the stench of feces deposited in prodigious quantities by dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, and guinea pigs.
The good Reverend hired a person to undertake the task of cleaning the rectory, but it turned out to be a chore on the same magnitude as that which the great Hercules encountered in the notorious Stygian Stables. The workman apparently tossed his cookies after cleaning just one room.
As a former owner of guinea pigs (as well as each of the other above-mentioned species), I can attest to their mind-boggling poop and piddle productivity. I can only imagine the volume of waste that might amass over the course of thirteen years. One wonders whether the departed pastor had ever heard the old saying that cleanliness is next to godliness? Or whether he had read the Old Testament command not to crap where you live and eat? Then again, it could just be that he was conducting a biblical experiment -- perhaps trying to figure out how Noah dealt with the poop issue on the Ark.
Finally, a sewer main ruptured in Orlando last week. Perhaps fueled by too much Mouse doodie from nearby Disney World or Orca crap from SeaWorld , it flooded a local road with 100,000 gallons of human waste. Orlando city officials are pondering the cause of the pipe break. Was it the fault of the manufacturer who sold the city a pipe that should have lasted for fifty years but survived for only five? Or was it a flaw in the installation -- maybe a poorly laid section of pipe on unstable footing? These are the issues being discussed. But no one has yet broached the most obvious possibility: that there is no sewer pipe on Earth that can survive a daily onslaught of bodily fluids, poop, diapers, and other foreign objects flushed in such a dense concentration as from the mega-sized theme parks nearby.
Shit is generally associated more with the dock leaf than the Ivy League. But thanks to Marisol Cortez, an academic specializing in cultural studies, scatology is gaining a (brown) veneer of respectability in scholarly circles.
Cortez has written a thesis about feces. How we view it in society, how people have written about it for decades, and (I like this!) how "we must rethink the very categories of 'filth' and 'waste'" with which we as a society are familiar. Damn right!
It's a very involved discussion, so I'll try to sum it up: shitting is normal. And rather than celebrating it or being disgusted by it, we should accept it. Hmm, acceptance of shit -- that sounds a familiar point of view. I wonder where I've heard that expressed before? Yes, Dear Reader, it should come as no surprise that PoopReport.com features heavily in Cortez's article. Indeed, the title: Brown Meets Green: The Political Fecology of PoopReport.com. (An early draft of this piece was published on PoopReport; now it’s been published in an actual academic journal!)
You see, as Cortez puts it, "scholarly writing on the scatological seems perennially to provoke the sort of shock that attends the novel and scandalous." But PoopReport provides something to make pooping normal: a platform for the very matter-of-fact discussion of bowel movements.
Although the stories we write and present for public consumption on this site do celebrate shit and the act of shitting, and, on the other side of the coin, express what Cortez describes as "fascinated horror" ("'shamelessness' is not necessarily what the PoopReporter experiences at the time of the recounted events," she writes), our collective effort demonstrates:
"an observational and journalistic approach that privileges description over evaluation -- and which ultimately allows PoopReporters to explore, in addition to the agonies and ecstasies of the excremental, those mundane, routine, and technical aspects of defecatory experience most effaced by the technologies of 'industrial shitting.'"
In short, through reporting our bathroom behavior, we are working towards making poop what we would like to see it: something perfectly natural.
However, I think we have a long struggle ahead. Going for a dump is fringe theatre compared with the Hollywood blockbusters that are other bodily functions. Impotence and vaginal dryness get talked about on daytime TV, but defecation is seemingly taboo. Incontinence is just about acceptable -- if tainted with embarrassment -- but normal load-dropping? It would be unthinkable for Regis and Kelly or Oprah and Dr. Phil to discuss bathroom behavior with the studio audience.
At least for now. But one day, my friends, one day...
Fellow PoopReporters and friends of the site, think of it like this: bit by bit, we are normalizing shit!
I moved to New York City in the summer of 1999. I didn't feel like a true New Yorker until about a year later when, one Saturday night at two AM, after an interminable wait for the F train, I let nature (and alcohol) get the best of me: getting off the train at my stop, I dawdled until I was the last one on the platform, and then peed on a subway column. My apartment was a few blocks away, but suddenly I felt like I was home. I was a New Yorker -- answering nature's call the way so many other New Yorkers did.
Such action was necessary only because I had to wait so long for my train. But in China, many travelers are faced with a different conundrum: being on a packed train for up to twenty-four hours at a time. No room to move, no room to breathe, no room to make one's way to the bathroom.
The occasion is Lunar New Year, during which millions of Chinese pack the trains to spend the holiday with their families. With 2,000 people crammed for a day or more on a train built for half that number, there isn't much choice. The result: in Foshan, Guangdong province, a 50% increase in sales of incontinence pads.
I wonder if this rite of passage is as important to Chinese men and women as peeing in the subway was for me. More likely, it's the opposite: you know you truly belong when you can make the rail journey without soiling your pants. Whether it's jostling for a position near the train's crapper, preparing for the inevitable with an adult diaper, or a two-day fast before the journey begins, Chinese New Year travelers know they've got the system mastered when they exit the train with pants as clean as they were when they got on.
It's bad enough when the bozo in front you on the highway lobs his lit cigar butt out the window or lets fly the wrappers from his fast-food lunch. But what about inconsiderate drivers who let loose a barrage of human waste to foul your lane?
That's just what happened on Interstate 5 in Everett, Washington, this past Tuesday. According to Sgt. Craig Johnson, the unfortunate patrolman who was called to the scene, a tractor-trailer rig transporting a shitload of human waste managed to slop about a ton of the brown glop all over the roadway when the driver suddenly braked. The not-so-precious cargo, reported to have the consistency of fresh cow manure, was covered only by a flimsy cloth tarp -- which allowed the waste to slosh over the sides of the open-topped trailer.
"It's human waste that's been sort of processed," Johnson told the local paper, which had sent an astute report to get the straight poop on the incident. "It stunk," he added.
While the crap mishap didn't cause any traffic accidents or delays, drivers who traversed the gooey pudding-like spill are advised to go to a commercial carwash to clean their besmirched vehicles.
The real question here is why a truckload of human manure was being transported in an open trailer, rather than in a tanker or other fully-enclosed unit. Some may argue that the consistency of the waste was too dense to pump from a tanker truck, but all you need to do is add water to make treated dung suitable for pumping. Or maybe the industry could come up with a specially designed vehicle to handle poop that is too thick to carry in tankers but too watery to cart away in a trailer or "dump" truck.
In other news: there were a lot of unhappy commuters lined up at the drive-thru Fill-'n'-Wash on Tuesday night...
With the forums figuring prominently in recent discussions here on the site, AssBlaster2000 thought she'd give those who haven't yet ventured into that hallowed ground a little peek at what they're missing.
A PoopReporter for President. Who would you vote for in 2008? SamDamnit and C Everett Poop are in the running. Cast your vote -- or, if nothing else, click the link to see SamDamnit's hilarious avatar.
A Lingering Impression. The Big Wiper sees PoopReporting opportunities everywhere he goes; this time, he smelled one, too. It was the shit that wouldn't quit.
What's up with urinal poopers? Why do some people like to poop where they should only piss? Are they perverts? Are they desperate people with a California mudslide threatening the structural integrity of their anus? Or do they just like to ruin it for everyone else?
Calling all Daphne fans. Daph describes in lurid detail a rancid fart that can only be described as "hot, smelly ass." You know -- the kind that convinces you there HAS to be something left in your pants.
The Great Poop Sync of '06. Does the same food make the same poop? We need at least five volunteers to eat the same thing for a week and monitor the output. Yes, we did this a few years ago -- but this time we want to attempt it again on a larger scale. This will be a fascinating scientific experiment, to be sure. Stay tuned to the forums for details.
A Florida municipal employee could be fired from her job as a result of what appears to be a feces-related revenge incident.
Shannon Do Coughlin, an economic development specialist at the city of Pinellas Park, is alleged to have stolen two cell phones from her former boyfriend's car. One phone belonged to him and one to his current girlfriend. Coughlin's former boyfriend called the cops accusing his ex of theft, and demanded she return the phones. She did so. Soon after, the chap opened the mailbox to find the phones wrapped in a blue plastic shopping bag -- covered in feces of undetermined origin.
Coughlin, who in her work for the city often appears on television during council meetings, admitted to the theft, saying, "I took the phones because he hurt me." According to the police report, though, she "did not comment on the feces." In addition to theft, she was charged with burglary, grand theft, and criminal mischief.
After the incident, she was suspended from work. Apparently, such behavior -- whether substantiated or not -- is regarded as conduct unbecoming a person whose role in the community commands such respect.
But should such an incident have any bearing on Coughlin's ability to do her job? (Pardon the expression.) It might in Coughlin's case -- it seems that her job requires a squeaky clean public image that must be preserved at all costs. You have to be a saint! According to Tim Cadell, the Pinellas Park spokesman: "Ultimately, anything could be (terminative) because it comes under that catchall of not being able to perform your duties." (Great choice of phrase there, Tim -- who said bureaucrats don't have a sense of humor?)
Granted, getting your stolen cellphone returned covered in droppings is literally a pretty shitty thing to happen to you. But what did the guy do to deserve it? How did HE hurt her? Any reasonable person would resort to feces only, one hopes, in dire circumstances. Was he a violent bully? Did he slash her tires or sign her up to a hardcore porn text messaging service?
Then again, perhaps she is an unreasonable person who overreacts. Maybe they just had a few too many arguments and she went all Glenn-Close-in-Fatal-Attraction on him. Who knows? With only one source available on Google News at the time of writing, the circumstances are about as clear as the water in the bowl after a bout of the squirts.
I'll keep you abreast of any developments as they arise; but for now, feel free to ponder this interesting case. Acceptable retribution, or an open-and-shut mailbox of turd terrorism? Discuss.
It's time to start your preparations for this year's Super Bowl -- tune-up the set, get the supply of chips and beer, hide the expensive Scotch. Oh, and so you're not caught with your pants down during the halftime flush, watch this video by Mike Ditka, legendary coach of the Chicago Bears.
Halftime flush? No one knows for sure the exact numbers here, but Ditka (and his copywriters) are talking something like ninety million toilets jumping into action after the first half of the big game. To clear that many heads requires all the water that flows over Niagara Falls in seven minutes. But not all of us live that close to the Falls, which means it's the busiest day of the year for the Roto-Rooter man.
Ditka's infomercial is brought to us by Scott as part of their Halftime Flush promotion. They think they have the tissue we need to minimize the chance of those dreaded back-to-back penalties: "roughing the shitter" and "holding." Their true aim here is to pimp their paper's ability to dissolve "four times faster than the leading brand;" and they're so confident in their paper's ability to split lickity-split that they offer ten suggested uses for the plunger you'll never need again. I smell a future lawsuit here.
My only memorable Super Bowl incident happened two years ago. When my turn came during halftime, I hustled to the only reliable shitter in the house. It flushed fine. When I came back the guys seemed surprisingly perky, so I asked them what I'd missed. Pat said, "Maybe nothing. But tell me: would you rather have a #2 in the can, or a boob on the tube?" I'd fucking missed Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction.
So don't you be a Roto-Rooter statistic this Super Bowl Sunday. Check your system, including your plunger. And place it right beside the toilet on game day. Finally, try to do your business early, during the appropriately-named two-minute warning.
Think about it. You fancy a snack -- chips, maybe. So you reach for a bag of the low-fat variety and munch on them. And soon after -- it's disaster! Abdominal cramps, bloating, a desperate need to go and empty your bowels… could it be the chips?
Well, if they contain Olestra, then it seems so.
Olestra, an indigestable fat-like substitute for real fat, was invented in 1968 by researchers at Procter and Gamble, but it endured years of wrangling with the FDA and didn't appear in snack foods until 1996. After nearly thirty years of arguing over patents and safety aspects, it must have been a real cause for celebration for the pharmaceutical bigwigs finally to have their product marketed. Well, almost. It was a far from perfect product, you see -- so the FDA required all foods containing Olestra to carry a label:
"This Product Contains Olestra. Olestra may cause abdominal cramping and loose stools. Olestra inhibits the absorption of some vitamins and other nutrients. Vitamins A, D, E, and K have been added."
Basically, Olestra might give you the shits.
Why, then, did a woman in Massachusetts who ate some Olestra-containing chips, want to sue Frito Lay -- especially because, unlike me, she knew all about Olestra?
Blame the branding. Since the chips she ate were marketed as Frito Lay's Ruffles Light, she thought they were different from the Frito Lay's Ruffles WOW, which she knew to contain Olestra. Hmm, that's rather crafty, isn't it? What a pretty ploy! That's what Steve Gardner, litigation director for the Center for Science in the Public Interest, thinks, anyway -- he says that this labeling is "really tricking consumers."
That's because in 2003 the FDA dropped the legal requirement to warn people about the possible effects of Olestra ingestion. Why? You guessed it: "pressure from the food industry ." Soon after, Frito-Lay replaced the WOW brand with the Light brand -- with no warning label on the Light.
Crikey! No warning? Surely there must have been a fair few complaints from people eating the stuff without knowing it, right?
Yes indeed. Tap "olestra" into Google and the first link you will see is not a triumphant page from its makers trumpeting its greatness as a food additive. Rather, it's the webpage for Olestra from the CPSI. The first thing you see on the page: "Gotten sick from eating OLESTRA (Olean)? Fill out our REPORT FORM!"
I must confess: when I first saw the article about the chip-eating woman's intended action against the company, my initial reaction was skepticism. "What an idiot! Can't she read a warning? Is having the shits any reason to sue someone? Every time I eat Mexican food, I shit rusty water… I could sue every Mexican restaurant in the country. In fact, every Mongolian Grill, some sandwich bars, certain pizza places, and Burger King! Oh, and certainly every brewery!"
Yet after delving further into the sludgy slime of Olestra, I can well understand why something ought to be done. Why would the FDA approve a substance that causes "diarrhea, flatulence, greasy stools, stained underwear, orange-colored oil in toilet bowls, and cramps?" And shitting your pants in public? And worse, trips to the emergency room? And worse still, surgery? The CSPI has documented all that and more.
Yet the FDA bowed to food industry lobbying pressure, and doesn't require a warning label.
If the corporations won't accept the responsibility to warn consumers about the unnatural effects of an unnatural substance, then the consumers will have to be vigilant. Until the labels are brought back (if it ever happens), make sure you read the list of ingredients on every snack you buy, just like a gluten-intolerant person would. Either that, or avoid snack food. Your vigilance will be rewarded by solidity.
Some dispatches from my inbox:
Clustersnarf blesses us with this gem: the knitted digestive system.
Did you see the link posted in the comments to SamDamnit's bookstore story to BookStorePoop.com? Here's the story from the site's owner, Darcy. "Bookstore Poop started because I work in a bookstore, and just about every day, we have a new poop trauma. If it isn't our store, it is one of our other locations. I figured, this can't be unique to my company, I bet other people have had poop trauma as well. So I started the website in an effort to get the poor, unsuspecting victims of the misuse of poop together to share their stories." Sam, feel free to resubmit your story there. Everyone else, if you have a bookstore poop story, submit it there, too -- but submit it here first. I don't mind sharing content, but I don't want them to corner the bookstore market -- especially if it's as lucrative as Darcy thinks.
Poopergal says: "I came across a gardening forum where the discussion has turned to using toilets as lawn ornaments. You might get a chuckle outta it..."
Kevin of Shizagram says: "Hi Dave. Just wanted to drop you a line to let you know I've now launched the world's first and only "remote mooning system." It's dubbed AssInTheBox.
Finally, we have this public service announcement (?): "I recently had a bad case of diarhea..did I spell that right? Anyway, I thought it would be brave (if not sick) to record these sound effects. OH MY...anyone interested in having this collection should email me at selektosteve@bellsouth.net. They're great to have around for parties, special projects, etc. FREE...just want to pass them around."
Uma Thurman has been the rounds with a few men now, enough to know what she wants. She recently summed up her philosophy this way:
"It seems harder and harder to make contact with men, especially for mature women. But it's better to have a relationship with someone who cheats on you than someone who doesn't flush the toilet."
Now, I'm as nervous as the next guy about making binding promises. But I do know that I could look Uma in the eye and vow to be, at minimum, a cheating flusher. So at the risk of seeming too forward: Uma, Logjam. Logjam, Uma.
To PoopReporters familiar with the Daily Download, that phrase is music to our ears. Yes, it's true: Chris Rockwell is returning to his pot. At approximately 6:34 p.m. Eastern Standard Time today Chris posted his first podcast since October 7 of last year.
Some of you may be a little disappointed that this "resurrection" of the Daily Download is guest-hosted by Adam Curry. (Yes, THAT Adam Curry.) Curry, who is Chris's new boss over at the Podsafe Music Network, says he's been "berating Chris Rockwell for the past months about him basically being on a poop stoppage." So he struck a deal with Chris: if he, Adam Curry, would do a first show in classic Rockwell style, Chris would return for more poopcasts.
Curry, bless his heart, tries his best. "Last night for dinner I had a pizza..." But when the big moment comes, Adam moves the mic way too far down into the bowl and subjects us to a disgusting cacophony that I'm sure made even Chris wince. But thanks, Adam, for doing what needed to be done to get Chris back in the game. You're a dear.
Chris, we can't wait to hear what you're having for dinner, what Lorrie's been up to, how the job is going, and what's been on your mind. And you'll find a stack of poop experiments in your inbox, buddy.
Turd terrorism. What is it? Who does it? Why? Is it ever justified? These are recurring topics of discussion on PoopReport, and for good reason. The turd terrorist is the antithesis of the PoopReporter. While we PoopReporters strive to wrestle the mighty turd to Earth in the name of tranquility and civility, the turd terrorist works to harness the mystical power of the turd to destroy civilized society.
This is an epic struggle, colleagues, and to effectively combat our enemies, we would do well to understand them. This is why I believe this haunting exploration by Jim Schutze of the Dallas Observer is required reading for the committed PoopReporter. What I've written below is a Reader's Digested version for the weak among us who can't read more than three hundred words without needing to rest. You stalwarts should go directly to the article.
Mr. Schutze delves into the motivations of Behrouz Nahidmobarekeh, the Texas cab driver who was sentenced last October to a five-year prison term for sprinkling his own dried feces on pastries at a local store. Both repelled by and attracted to the story, Schutze suggests that "the doo-doo man occupies a horrible sweet spot in the collective Jungian fabric. He is the primal demon who pops out of the doughnut display at us all. The shit trickster."
Mr. Schutze puts his finger on what acts of turd terrorism accomplish: "The whole thing undermines the hell out of my own confidence in modernity. If this is how it's going to be with the doughnuts, then I'd just as soon go back to a hunter-gatherer society."
Grasping for reasons against giving up on society, Mr. Schutze searches for the holy grail of turd terrorism: the motivation. He quickly rejects the argument the shit sprinkler offered in court, that he was playing a little joke to get back at the store for mistreatment. His quest led him from interviews with jurors and a friend of the terrorist to visits to the local library, where the shit sprinkler developed a reputation for defiling books.
In the end, Mr. Schutze is left with more questions than answers, more distress than comfort. "He haunts me, because he is a man, a human being, not so far from me as I want to think. Closer and closer, as a matter of fact. He changes the basic equation. I can't even tell you what my favorite food used to be."
It is this reality -- that we can't spot the terrorists among us -- that makes us want to crawl back into the safety of our ancestral cave or to shoot first and ask questions later. And these are precisely the behaviors that terrorist acts are designed to produce. So have a doughnut, Mr. Schutze, as a sacrament to the inevitable victory of civilization.
Growing up addicted to detective shows and true crime, I had always been aware that people would flush drugs down the toilet whenever they were on the brink of being raided. However, surely even the dumbest criminal would realize that it's not a good idea to do away with evidence any larger than a few wraps of heroin. Given the usual diameter of an S-bend, surely no one would stuff, say, oooh, a considerable amount of cash down the toilet?
Not so.
Take currency forgers Selina Jean Valdez and Daniel Marquez, of Pueblo, Colorado. It seems that the couple, aware their duplex was about to be raided in late December, flushed wads of counterfeit money down the toilet. The result? Destroyed plumbing. A flooded apartment. Urination and defecation in plastic bags for over a week, until the cops came back on Thursday to search the dwelling and arrest the couple.
According to the Pueblo Chieftain, "hunks of suspected counterfeit bills [were] packed into the pipes...span[ning] from just a few feet beyond the toilet to almost 100 feet along the lines."
It's early days, but I think that if there were an award for the Most Inappropriate Use of a Toilet, this incident would be a strong contender for the 2006 crown. Seriously, what could top this over the next eleven and a half months?
I have been fascinated with urban legends for a long time -- ever since I started to use the Internet regularly, to be precise. Like most readers, my inbox has often been full of forwarded email tales, and I've read more than my fair share on online forums. Most recently was a rather worrying piece -- purported to be from the police, posted by a very intelligent person, prefaced with "I don't normally post this sort of stuff, but it's from a reputable source!" -- about the dangers of flashing your headlights at cars whose drivers had not switched on theirs. Wow!
I now find Snopes indispensable. Every time I hear a funny tale, I have a good think about it and then challenge its veracity by checking there. I'm getting much better at spotting absolute bollocks before I've read even the first sentence of an email whose subject line reads, "Fwd: FWD: Fw: Fw: FWD:".
Shamefully, it wasn't until very recently that I searched the pages of Snopes to see what information of a poop-related nature I might find there. Some little nuggets floated to the top of the search function; I'd like to give you a little sniff of what I found.
A couple has anal sex on a white sofa. An accident follows. And the cheeky young scamps do? Yes, you've guessed it -- they blame it on the dog!
I'm sure everyone has heard this or variations on it. I remember hearing it when I was at high school. Some chap spews up all over the poor girl with whom he's managed to score. What does she do? Quite right -- she shits on his chest!
This one is far stranger -- in fact, I'm amazed that I haven’t happened upon this until now. Rumor has it that in order to win a gross-out contest, jazz-rock legend Frank Zappa shat on stage and ate it. Er… yes. I'm pleased to tell you that it appears to be untrue.
Finally, here is a reference fit for PoopReport: a short piece on the origin of that good old four-letter word that we know and love. Did it start as an acronym for "Ship High in Transit?" Clearly, I don't need to give you the answer to that one. The people who circulate that story must have the same microscopic amounts of grey matter as those who would have you believe that "fuck" was originally an acronym for "For Unclean Carnal Knowledge" or, more creatively, "Fornication Under the Consent of the King." Yes, the origin of "shit" has very little to do with things that float on water.
Can you find any other poop legends on Snopes? I don’t know if the Mountain Dew Pitch Black legend is on there, but it should be.
Here's a question: what do you with the gun in your pants and the ammo in your pockets when you have to drop your guard and take a dump?
Now, I wouldn't have thought this was an issue for many of us. But a rash of recent stories suggests otherwise. Here's a sampling of three stories. Each one offers a different suggestion -- and then demonstrates the possible downside.
Possibility One: lay the gun aside. Scene: the restroom at Jeffrey's Bistro in Laramie, Wyoming.
Chief of police Bob Deutsch remembers to zip up before walking out of the restroom. But he neglects to tuck in his .40-caliber Glock semiautomatic pistol. He had to issue an apology in which he admits, "Personally, I think that's a serious violation of policy."
Someone leaves behind more than fifty bullets of a type used only by the military. But no gun is found. Putting two and two together (along with his string of titles and names), Deputy Police Chief Superintendent Abang Abdillah Abang Othman speculated that they belonged to someone who is with the security forces -- someone who may have had a drink too many.
A guy sitting on the pot shoots off a finger while playing with his gun. No weapon or bullets are found at the scene -- just a shell casing and lots of blood. A member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police issued a warning that playing with guns while using the toilet is "not a good idea."
I'm out of ideas. Anyone know what Dirty Harry did?
she knew all about Olestra?
