Fascinated by the feedback I received from my first tale of pooping woe, I had to return to share my deepest, darkest shit story. I've been working for a zoo for six years now, and back in the beginning, I was a lowly handler. It was my duty to hold and present exotic animals at educational shows while my boss rambled on about them. While working with animals, poop is always part of the deal... but I never thought I'd have to worry about my poop.

Being a shameful shitter, I never go outside of my home unless Big Things Are Happening. Before the show on this fateful day, I was aware that my insides were grumbling and displeased with the previous night's Middle Eastern cuisine. I remember thinking, "man, I'd better use the bathroom before the show", both before we left the zoo facility and once we were setting up. But things were rather busy that day with our critters, and I was constantly forgetting about pooping in preparation of our performance. On with the show, as they say. Before I could think thrice about dropping a deuce, our audience filed in to sit down and I focused on keeping our critters calm.

Two medium sized Boy Scout troops sat down and anxiously awaited the animals. With great exuberance, my boss got into character, and we began. The kids learned about and petted our alligators, python, hedgehog, skunk, and fennec fox. Finally, in the middle of the line-up, came my arch-enemy: Casey. Casey is a psychotic kinkajou with zero manners. If you aren't familiar with the species, they are somewhat similar in looks to clawed lemurs with huge buggy eyes. He strongly prefers men and loathes the zoo's new handlers. He's one of the few animals we don't allow the kiddies to pet because of his temper.

I had worked with Casey back at the zoo a few times and was beginning to gain his trust through bananas and soft singing, so I was pretty confident that Casey would behave for me during this show. My boss belted out Casey's introduction - my cue to fetch his carrier and pull him out to a chorus of ooooo's and ahhhhh's. Just as I was reaching for his cage, however, my intestines writhed, cramped and lurched; I had no choice but to ignore this and carry on with feigned vigor.

If you've never handled an exotic critter, let me tell you... they know what kind of mood you're in. If you have a toothache or are suffering from some kind of pressing emotional drama, you're often excused from training the animals since your condition will often stress them out. When I reached my hand into Casey's domain, my face was scrunched up because I was attempting to will my cramps to GTFO. Casey came out without incident, much to my relief, and I held him proudly up for the kids to see. As I made my way around the room for them to have a closer look, I remember having to make an effort to clench my butt together in a silent prayer.

At this point, my intestines were pissed. If I relaxed my sphincter at this point, explosive diarrhea would be inevitable... right there in the middle of the Cub Scouts. I suddenly stopped my march around the scouts, my boss in the middle of the kinkajou speech. I pretended that I had halted to show off Casey's prehensile tail, and I faked a big grin and held that bad boy up by his tail. In reality, I was praying, "Please, God, just let me make it to the end of this damn show..." I clenched harder than I ever have before.

Then, it happened. I farted.I don't know how it slipped out, it just did. I must have relaxed a fraction while raising Casey up. Nevertheless, it was an awful, loud, trumpeting fart. The audience went silent. I felt Casey stiffen at this sudden change of vibe; my face hot, I just stood there sheepishly. I was about to blame Casey when all hell broke loose. The children erupted in deafening laughter, their voices echoing off the auditorium walls.

Casey went ape-shit. He let loose a God-awful screeching chatter and attached his jaws into the fleshy part of my upper arm. Kinkajous have canines one might compare to a Doberman’s. I forgot about my suffering intestines and howled, only enticing the beast to bite harder. I dropped to a crouching position as my boss made a beeline to me in an attempt to free my arm. An instant before she was within reach, my sphincter relaxed and I involuntarily released my very first Foop. A tablespoon or so of pure poo sludge had escaped. At that moment, I completely dismissed each and every chaotic thing that was going on and went into the kind of tunnel-vision only a true shameful shitter can know. I ran like hell to the bathroom, a very pissed off kinkajou still attached to me. I ran out of the gymnasium and through a short hallway, past about ten parents and a few school staffers. I don't remember a lot of that dash. It is very much a blur, but I do remember the horrified gasps.

My boss did not follow me out, as she needed to both calm the kids and watch over our animals. I made it to the restroom, not caring one bit about Casey, who had quit tearing into me with his violent head-shaking and was just sort of holding on; I shot into the stall, whipped my jeans down, and began shooting explosive diarrhea out even before my butt ever touched the porcelain. It was over just as soon as it started; one good wave of liquid poop and I was instantly better. I then remembered Casey. Taking him gently by the scruff, I removed him from my arm and held him in the air as I awkwardly tried to wipe with my free hand. After only a mediocre wiping job, I somehow managed to remove my soiled underwear and shuffled my jeans back up, keeping Casey at arm's length by the scruff and pinned against the stall door.

I have never, and hopefully will never, had such a horrific walk of shame as I did that day making my way back to the gymnasium. I'm pretty sure my pride was in worse shape than my arm. It all turned out fine, as it usually does. My boss never spoke a word of it to anyone (God bless that woman), and I never did either until now. So thank you, Poop Report, for the opportunity to get that off my chest.