The history of our nation has witnessed many great conflicts. Courageous men and women have fought and died in serving their country. Their valor should never be forgotten.
I, on the other hand, am not courageous. Nor do I posses valor. But in the confines of my small, pitiful world, I too have fought battles. These are not Battles of the Bulges or Bunker Hills -- rather, Battles of the Bowls and Dumper Fills.
My struggles on the porcelain battlefield can be compared, in a small-minded way, to other conflicts in our nation's history. I do stress that the following is not intended make light of the seriousness of war nor to detract from those who have served. It is only through the misuse of poetical powers that I make such similes.
Iraq I: the Hussein Menace
I've been eating well, and by well I mean staying away from the Taco Bells and other insurgents. I've built a strong coalition of natural foods with good fiber counts. So when the first signs of aggression appear, I spring in to action. All it takes are some well-formed Patriot missiles and I'm done. Short and sweet.
World War I
There is a stalemate. I've been entrenched for a while, and the only signs of action are sounds of artillery fire and the occasional clouds of poison gas. No full troop movements. I leave the battlefield not sure if I accomplished anything at all.
World War II
While the warning signs are around -- pizza, beer, and late night Taco Bell -- everything seems normal. Then comes a sneak attack on Colon Harbor, and thus I join the cause. Many small battles are fought tooth and nail. But there is only one way this conflict ends: from my perch on the A-Bowl-a and Pray, I drop the ironically-named Little Boy. Victory, and a lasting peace.
Vietnam
This war always starts out with a little discomfort. I expect that I'll merely be manning the crapstations for a quick battle. But after the first solid is dropped, all hell breaks loose. Solid ammunitions end and the Wet Offensive begins with liquid fire splurting out. Strains of Creedence Clearwater Revival's Run Through the Jungle can be heard faintly against the salvos. The heat and the humidity in the bathroom rise. I'm sweating profusely and my morale deteriorates. Waves of napalm are shot through my sphincter. There's a putrid stench in the air, and it doesn't smell like victory. I've been in country for a while now, and on the other side I can hear protesters demanding I get out now. Finally, my tour of doody is over and I leave the room. The stench has followed me out and the civilians are so disgusted they offer no welcome. I crawl on to a bed -- face cheeks down, butt cheeks up -- as I try to make sense of it all. But soon enough Commander Colon sends me back in country for another tour.
PoopReporters: I know I'm not the only one who has raised arms against the enemy within. Please describe the wars or battles in which you've fought in the comments below.
