Is there a PoopReporters’ Anonymous? I think I need help.
It all started a year or so ago. I found the site quite by accident. It was the funniest thing I had ever read. I was hooked immediately! I wrote a story or two and stayed to read as much as I could for awhile, but life went on.
I kept the site in my Favorites list but fell out of the loop. Then our family moved and moved and moved, all in the name of jobs won and lost. We're now back where we started from in the mid-west, but the bran muffins were so much tastier where we were on the West coast. I miss those So-Cal bran muffins so much! They were so light and fluffy. Ahh, wistful bran-loving memories. So now, to deal with the local flat and boring muffins surrounding me, I've turned to poop.
Yes, I suppose it was just a current poop story thread here or there at first, but I could still keep my life in balance. Soon enough, however, it became apparent that one funny-ass story wasn't enough. I started binge-reading polls, pooetry and such. I wanted to read every back-end story to catch up. I wanted the points! I wanted to match the totals of Daphne, Prarie Doggin’ or Chief Thunderbutt! I racked my muffin tin brain for poop stories in the search for fast easy points. Would this next poop be of epic proportions that I could write about? Would that slovenly-clad guy in the grocery line in front of me do something shitty so that I could create a Poop Report about him? Maybe I could use my friend's story of jet black poop after guacamole… (nah). Well then, would it be OK to just ask the lady in the Macy's bathroom if she has any good commode stories? You know, it's amazing how many stories in a person's life that have to do with poop. It's fun. It's creative. It's an absolutely addictive
outlet!
After awhile I started skipping a shower here and there just so I could read a little bit more. Friends started complaining that I wasn't paying enough attention to them at lunch. My mind was endlessly elsewhere, contemplating Bilgepump with a cat, or wondering if the sausage I ate that morning was fresher than Pill Poopers'. I wrote little PoopReport ideas on beverage napkins.
Soon enough, I started skipping lunches all together. I furtively enjoyed a muffin at the pc instead. Lately, my husband has been getting angry that little poost-it-notes have been stuck everywhere in the house, all poostoolations. I knew there was a real problem when my kids started complaining that I was on the computer too much. I stopped making dinner. I decided I didn't have to do laundry. I was eating way too many bran muffins. How many times have I sat at midnight with the lights out writing or reading poop stories, shamefully, while everyone else in the house slept?
My wrists have been hurting lately; I think I am getting Crappo-Tunnel Syndrome.
Some days I do the PoopReport all day. As I crouch over a dimly-lit computer while the sun goes down, I'm still in my pajamas and slippers, it's gotten so bad. I have a crick in my neck now that won't let my head turn to the left nor the right, and there is a tingling in my left arm that won't go away. Coffee is my best friend.
Presently, I write in the middle of the night, in secrecy. I cannot sleep. I must read more, respond more. I must earn more points, create more poop. I must be the best damn little PoopReporter I can be.
There must be a twelve-step program somewhere. "Porcelain God, grunt me the serenity (lithium pills?)..."
My name is Bran Lover. I am addicted to PoopReport.
