This story was kind of boring, but it did get me thinking about WWII, The Great Depression and the Greatest Generation. I don't understand how a generation that knew what hard work, patriotism, and self sacrifice meant could raise a generation of stinking liberal hippies. WTF!!? Sure most of them gave up flower power for the corporate world and drive Volvos, but at heart they are still hippies and when things get tough (i.e. right NOW!) they crack.

I'll stop...I could go on for days but this isn't the place, especially since I'm just an AC.

P. S.
CEP. I love every one of your "lamed" comments.

Ahh, the good old days. My mom is still complaining about moving from New York to Idaho in 1949. Apparently there was a plumbing disparity between the metropolis and the frontier.

_I remember going to a church in NH when I was younger(about 12)_and they had a two-holer inside the church. Very strange._____
Producing waste since 1967

Anonynous coward, You have your history a bit confused. It sure as hell wasn't the depression era that produced the hippy, left wing liberals. I was from the time, born in 1926. The group you mentioned didn't come along until the 6o's and they were mostly college students who were brainwashed by young Marxist type professors. My generation despised these liberal, socialistic idiots. I hope you'll go back to your history book and get your logistics straight.
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Caca Crooner

I appreciate the story from this mature and saucy person. It doesn't have to be a "OMG I almost shit myself LOL" for me to enjoy reading it.

Please stay around and post more about what it was like "back then". I find it really interesting even though I'm a hippy.

I'm not your conventional hippy.

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.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

Thanks Daphne,
If you would like to read mores stories from that era I have about 65 of them posted here. This is the only one that fit this website but, according to your comments, you might enjoy most of them.
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Caca Crooner

I had to follow the link I got to this site. Mostly because I am actually from Gladewater, Texas, but the "poop" thing was more than enough to get my curiosity up. Now, if you'll excuse me...I have to "go see a man about a job." (OK, that was an easy cheap shot. LOL)

DP's Elder Farts are from the coal mining hills of WVa. They lived on a hillside (no, sirreeee, bottom land wasn't good enough for us) with an extremely thin layer of dirt over the rock of the mountain. I never thought about but, considering how long they lived in the house and the number of kids they raised, how did they ever dig a hole deep enough to accommodate all of that crap.

As young kids, when we went to visit before, we too had to make the middle of the night forays out to the one-holer. I thought it was kind of cool (especially during the winter) but, then, I was only a kid.

We, too, were tortured with rumors of vicious spiders lurking under the seat that seemed to feed exclusively off of human ass flesh. And those damn spiders especially seemed to crave the flesh of young boys. Maybe Jeffrey Dahmer was bitten by such a spider and became the anti-Spiderman.

Not wanting to bust your chops, but these so-called hippies that you deride, were (1) the off-spring from your generation and (2) were educated by professors who, in turn, were either raised and educated during the two world wars.

Of course, the possibility exists that some of these professors could have immigrated to the US from Russia, but immigration from such places would have been a bit more difficult after Nov 1917.
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Deja Poo - Because this shit's so strange, it couldn't ever have happened before.

After reading over the comment a second and third time I realize I had misunderstood the statement. I originally thought he meant our generation were the people he described. Yes, he is correct and I am wrong. Our generation did indeed foster these brainless sheep who blindly followed their mentors. I too cannot understand how we who were so conservative and down to earth could produce a generation so naive and gullible. I stand corrected.
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Caca Crooner

It has been many years since I pooped in a privy. One summer vacation I once stayed at a cabin near Green Bay that had a privy; I enjoyed using it, as well as seeing what other family mnembers left there. I think my favorite memories, though, are later: on long trips sometimes I would stop at a highway rest area that had a privy. I don't remember ever encountering anyone else at these stops, which were not at Interstates (didn't exist, mostly, at that time) but along smaller, often two-lane, roads. There would be a pull-off, then back a bit from the road a one-holer, perhaps two one-holers. I always looked both before and after my own dump. Occasionally one of the privies would be marked "Men" or "Women." Once, at a particularly deserted stretch, I looked into the ladies' privy and saw, on the dirt at the bottom, a single huge turd--no paper, nothing else, just that turd. I guess the privy had just been installed. There was a place in Tennessee, not too far from Memphis, where the "facilities" consisted of two spiral lengths of quite tall hurricane fence. The user would walk into the center of the spiral, squat, and let go. An intriguing concept that left lots of people's poop open for viewing. Surprisingly, it didn't smell much, probably because in the sun and open air, the poop dried quickly. Ah, the memories . . .

It has been so long since I wrote the article I just sort of forgot about it I guess. I'm glad that Dave let me know it had received an honorable mention. I then reviewed it and saw the new postings. I'm sorry I didn't see them earlier. I appreciate those who took the time to comment on a subject that is near and dear to my rear. May you all have a happy new year and lots of good movements in the coming twelve months.
Alterscheiss

Some of the most enjoyable poops of my life were in an outhouse. This was one fall while hunting in Western Colorado. About 100 yards directly in front of the outhouse was a beaver pond, and it was really fun to watch the beavers build their damns. (We never bothered closing the door) Anyway, it was really relaxing with the cold crisp air and watching the beavers.

The other neat thing was that this outhouse was made from a huge corrugated pipe. So, when you farted, it made a real weird sound. The other interesting thing is that you could hear your turds hitting the bottom (which was odd, because the "bottom" was just a huge pile of previously deposited turds.) I always tried to look down and see if I could tell which turds were mine, and usually I could if I was the first one to go in the morning. I someone else had gone first (or was going with me because it was a "two-holer") I couldn't tell because all of the turds would be fresh and look kind of the same.

I've always hoped I may someday get to use an outhouse again, but I doubt I will.

It's interesting that, among all my memories of privies 30 to 60 years ago, I never remember using one I was afraid to sit down on. All the poop was below, none on the seat, no urine where it didn't belong. With modern porta-potties, I often find urine on the seat, occasionally poop. Is it just that more people use the modern ones? Or have modern folks just not been taught how to use what are basically unflushable facilities that many others will have to use after us?