I'm sure he tackles tuna with his root. He can use his piece of handkerchief to wipe his root when he's done.

Once you've convinced yourself that you're God, it's a short leap to thinking your shit don't stink.
. . . jimmy

Yeah I agree. That made no sense. It's totally incoherent.

You can bet your sweet patootie that he does not have a honey pot any where near him.

Funny how the 'god' moon is balding and shits

Rev. Moon believes "when the Chinese encounter smelly waste products, they can put them to good use and grow stronger from that. In the end, who will become the winner-the Chinese who don't mind bad smells, or the rootless Americans who can't tolerate the odor of human waste for a second? Yes, the Chinese would be the winners because they have that deep root."

So ... when the World Toilet Summit in Beijing works toward outfitting China with modern flush toilets, that must mean they are puttin' the root to the Chinese by taking the root out of them.

And when Moon says that when "you are sitting on the toilet, giving energy to push out your waste. Even that moment and that smell you can describe in terms of love. Even in these circumstances you can be a poet! A great poem comes out of it" ... that puts the Rev. in the same philosophical shithouse as Martin Luther, doesn't it?

That whole thing made very little to no sense at all. And he gets paid for that bullshit?

This could have been entitled: "Everything You Wanted To Know About The Reverend Moon But Were Terrified To Ask." In fact, just about all bases were covered in this essay except perhaps how The Reverend Moon moons.

I think the good Reverend is the kind who orders a pizza, and when it comes to the door, he takes it inside, dooks on it, and tells the delivery guy, "I didn't order this with sausage." Then his wife comes out and starts laughing and says "You suck."

Is "tackling the tuna" a code phrase for something?

i've got a secret honey bucket stashed away under my desk...Sun Myung would be proud!

F.P.R.

I'd like to meet this Moon character some day. When I do, I shall fart--hard--in his general direction, and then start screaming, "You're smelling perfume! You're smelling perfume!"

Howdy-ho everybody! You can sure bet that Reverend Moon is going to get a vist from me this year!

Di:

Read his B.S.closely. Apparently he thinks it's the wife's duty to wipe the root after sitting patiently while the husband makes messy stinky poo and causes earth-shaking butt rattles, etc.

Oh, the ying and the yang of it all!

But aren't parts of his philosophy consistent with the ideal of shameless shitting?

As always, Logjam is right. There is wisdom here:

"When there is true love between husband and wife, you will open the door where your spouse is using the toilet and you will feel you are smelling a perfume."

"You are sitting on the toilet, giving energy to push out your waste. Even that moment and that smell you can describe in terms of love. Even in these circumstances you can be a poet! A great poem comes out of it."

A great poem, indeed. That is what PoopReport is!

"Be a poet"? Yes, being in the bathroom taking a shit seems to create inspiration for poetry - I've seen some really great gems on bathroom walls, ranging from vulgar to funny to inspired to downright amazing. One of my favorites, which was written in fancy script all the way down the back of a stall door:

Here I sit in silent bliss
Listening to bubbling piss
Now and then a fart is heard
Or a splash - a falling turd

Here I sit, broken-hearted
Tried to shit, only farted
Do the best that I can do
To give birth to lovely poo

Here I sit in fumes and vapor
Someone stole the toilet paper
How much longer must I linger?
Look out butt, here comes my finger!

Here I sit, same as ever
Took a shit, pulled the lever
Toilet clogged and water flowed
Look out world, it's a mother load!

Mr. Moon was right... Shit brings out the creativity...
"The painter's work is all in vain,
The shithouse poet strikes again!"

I think it's totally unchristian to make your wife clean up her pee if you are on the pot, because a real man would think of others before himself.
I'd be very suspicious of the pot my wife cooked my dinner in if I were married to me and living in this predicament.

If I told the exact length of time I've had diarrhea for I'd give away my identity. Rest assured that I've been squirting and doing soft ones for years, ha! So the next time you come to my town and talk back you'd better watch out because I'm a sneaky squeaky and my girl is pinky stinky with a big tit!

Sounds like something from his paper the washington times! Wonder if he knows people use his paper to wipe with?

Decent first story.

I don't fully get the gist of the story though.
_______
A man who farts in church, sits in his own pew.