MAIN SECTIONS
MAIN SECTIONS
Stories About Poop Intellectual Crap Consumer Reports Fun with Feces Poop at the Office Techniques Travel Logs The Captain's Log Academic Poop Home  
RESOURCES The PoopReport Gift Pack Poop Culture: The Book The PoopReport Store The Skatole Shirt PoopReport FAQ Best Of PoopReport Press Room Advertise! PoopReport on Myspace PoopReport on Facebook NEWS AND ADVICE The BM News Wire Ask PoopReport Ask a Poodiatrist Eternal Debates FEATURES Special Reports Movie Poop Archive Toilet Paper Survey Pooetry Comics Poop Contests MOVEMENTS I Poop and I Vote!  Shameless Shitting Poop For Peace The Summer Stoolstice DISCUSSIONS Shit Of My Career Childbirth Poop Book Of The Shameless First Memory of Poop More... REPORT POOP Poop Forums PoopReport Chat Submit 
NavigationOur BuddiesLower left rotating ad most recent poll -- formattedPoop at the Movies |
 Faux PooPosted 03.31.2005 by Poopster39 (189)
This is one of those heartwarming coming of age stories that we all look back on with fondness. The year was 1975 and I was fifteen years old. I was in the process of taking a dump in the bathroom downstairs. Nothing special, so I won't even bother to describe it. As I relaxed on the pot and got down to business, my eleven-year-old sister, whom I'll call Sissypoo, began to speak to me from outside the bathroom door.
"What are you doing in there? Ewwww. Ewwww." I could hear Sissypoo and her equally obnoxious friend laughing as she continued to taunt me. I told her to get away; but for an eleven-year-old this was simply an opportunity she couldn't resist. Her older brother was in a compromising position and she had the upper hand. So she continued to taunt me. "Ewwww. What's that smell? Ewwww." From past postings I've made it clear that I'm a Shameful pooper. This was certainly the case back then. Age fifteen was one of those extremely awkward years in which I was self-conscious about everything. Now, if Sissypoo had been alone at the time, it wouldn't have been so bad. But she had intentionally drawn an audience, and that was way over the line as far as I was concerned. And so I seethed in quiet fury and formulated a plan. It was, I must admit, brilliant. Speed and stealth were essential if I was to pull this off. Fortunately, my fourteen-year-old brother was watching television on the sofa a mere ten feet from where Sissypoo and her minion stood. The noise from the TV would be enough to drown out any faint noises I was about to make. First, I quietly rolled up a wad of toilet paper and wiped myself. Then I stood up and gently closed the lid to the pot. I did not flush, since this would tip off Sissypoo, allowing her to scurry off in victory. That was unacceptable. I tiptoed to the faucet and slowly opened a valve, pouring about an inch of warm water into a drinking cup. On top of the toilet tank was a potted plant. I poured some of the water onto the plant soil and used my finger to make a paste. Fortunately my mother used potting soil, which was dark in color and mixed to a nice pasty consistency. Other than the lack of odor, it was perfect. Next, I wiped my fingers on a cloth and proceeded to wad up a fresh piece of toilet paper. Then I pinched a nice glop of my creation with the paper. It looked absolutely perfect. Even close up, nobody would ever know the difference. "Ewwww. Ewwwww. What's that noise?" So far everything was going as planned. Sissypoo was convinced I was still on the crapper. I quietly walked up to the door, and then slowly unlocked it. Just outside, my bratty sister continued to taunt me, confident that I was in no position to do anything about it. This door happened to swing inward. I stepped aside and pulled the door open rapidly. Sissypoo's glee-filled expression quickly turned to one of confusion. A split second later, I thrust the poop smear up to her face and held it there for her to see clearly. The look of confusion instantly changed to one of abject terror. As she stumbled back a step she made a wooowooowooo noise, similar to the way a cartoon character would react upon seeing a ghost. Fear must have paralyzed her, because she literally fell over backward. I quickly sat on top of her, pinning her arms to the floor with my knees. In an instant the tables had turned completely. I was now the one in control. Everyone in the room, including my brother and Sissypoo's friend, was now transfixed on what was taking place. I lifted the imposter poop, held it about a foot above Sissypoo's head, and gave her a sinister smile. I was going to milk this moment for all it was worth. "Don't! Don't!" she screamed. Meanwhile Sissypoo's friend was yelling for me to stop, never once crossing the mandatory five-foot perimeter around the crime scene. My brother was laughing hysterically on the couch. I began to dive bomb Sissypoo's face with the poop smear like it was a Kamikaze pilot, each time pulling up an instant before contact. At this point Sissypoo was really screaming -- and believe me, this girl could scream like Faye Wray. It was blood-curdling and quite genuine. Remember, I was the only one in the room who knew the truth about the poop smear. Everyone else was 100% convinced it was the authentic thing. That was the beauty of this plan. Later, during my tribunal, I could truthfully claim it was nothing more than mud. I was now ready to finalize my revenge. Once again I held the imposter up above Sissypoo's head. Then I brought it down in a slow death spiral and made contact with her nose. Sissypoo's back spasmed, lifting me eight inches off the floor. I quickly smeared the pseudo-poo on her cheeks, her chin, and her forehead. Then I jumped off. The girl went absolutely berserk. I never quite saw anything like it. She ran upstairs screaming as if she was being attacked by bees. I told my brother the truth and we rolled on the floor laughing for at least fifteen minutes. Later, Sissypoo's friend came downstairs to scold me. (Years later she grew up to be a real hottie. For some reason, I never had a chance with her.) I don't remember much after that. I probably got into trouble when my mother got home. Didn't matter. It was well worth it. Looking back after thirty years, I have to say things worked out better than I had hoped. It was a perfect plan, perfectly executed. Would I do it again if given the chance? In a heartbeat. -- Poopster39 Post new comment
|
Ad 1
Text Ads
Recent comments
Who's onlineThere are currently 2 users and 1030 guests online.
Online users: |
