Ten ingenious folk who moved to Hangzhou have found rent free lodgings—a public toilet. They`ve transformed the unusual accommodation, which still functions as a public crapper, by furnishing it with beds, tables, cooking equipment, and even a TV.

A lady called Ai, who naturally has moved into the ladies section, said, “We have got used to the strong smell of urine. The worst thing is that people keep stealing my stoves and pots.”
And apparently, the male toilets are plagued with mice.

The toilet dwellers have been living there for several months and seem to have gotten used to their new abode, though it must be pretty damn unusual to see someone rush into your dining room, while clutching their butt cheeks, open a cupboard door, squat down, and noisily unload a gallon or so of evil smelling diarrhea.

A local resident, Mr Du, said, “When I ran inside to use the toilet, I was stunned to see several people sitting around, chatting or doing things.”
The locals try to avoid using the toilets, but this would indicate that the ones who do use them are desperate and probably have to download the most disgusting and smelly loads of turds.

I guess rent free housing has its drawbacks.

The grocery store chain I worked for gave the bathroom cleaning responsibilities to the baggers, and it used a periodic template so the baggers would know when to do so. The template ordered a cleaning almost every hour, on the hour, for four bathrooms: two Women's rooms and two Men's rooms.

The first pair of bathrooms was located near the front of the store and was mainly used by customers, while the lesser-known, other pair was located in the back and were primarily for employee-use. Even though there were varying assigned baggers checking all four, messes still occurred in a frequent enough degree to cause customers to complain to the service desk. In turn, the service desk deployed a bagger to see that the mess was cleaned and whatever debris present was removed from the premises promptly. Usually, the mess consisted of a few paper towels scattered about or urine splattered on the floor from women who hovered above the seat when they peed, but every once in a while a mess came along that blew our minds. This is about one of those messes:

I think most of the baggers had been raised with silver spoons in their mouths, because when they encountered a real mess, they summoned me. I had just finished bringing shopping carts in from the parking lot, and as I went to work bagging, my presence was requested at the service desk. A supervisor informed me of a small matter in need of attention in the front Women's room, so I grabbed the quick response cart and went to work. Apparently, the small matter had been discovered before I’d returned from shopping cart duty, because the door to the Women's bathroom was barricaded by five CAUTION WET FLOOR/PISO MAJADO signs, and an OUT OF ORDER note was taped to the door. A rookie must have attempted a cleanup but didn't have the onions to take care of it, and was content to pass it on to someone else.

I wrestled with the makeshift barricade and propped the door open. I took a mental snapshot of the scene, and immediately, my private eye abilities took over. I felt like Dick Tracy or like some other detective in those corny movies from the Thirties. (I half-expected to see someone on the floor named Bugsy, and his flapper siren lover, who would be holding a smoking gun, would be telling me why she did it.)

A few paper towels with droplet stains on them were scattered on the floor. They looked unused. Puss stains on the mirror suggested that someone had been popping zits (and women think men are nasty). There were no bubbles in the drain. This fact meant that either no one had been in here for quite some time, or if she was, then she didn't wash her hands. The door of the closest stall was closed, but no one was in it. The second stall was a handi-crapper, and its door was ajar. The first stall was clean.

The second stall was not.

I opened the handi-crapper stall door and was astonished at what I found. I froze, unable to look away from the supposedly small matter before me. Underneath the toilet-paper dispenser lay a large pile of discarded toilet tissue in an uninterrupted strand that was still connected to the roll within the dispenser. Small yellow puddles lined the floor around the perimeter of the toilet. There were small brown pieces of debris on the toilet seat. I felt anger more than anything else up to that point, but then the undeniable color of red captured my eye. It shattered the black and white scene like a snippet from Sin City. I looked closer. The seat was a typical public toilet seat; there was a gap in the middle of the front part. And it was in between that gap where I saw a red splash running down the front of the toilet, as well down into the bowl. Upon closer inspection, I determined that it was blood. There was no doubt about it.

The amount of blood left me feeling extremely uncomfortable in that bathroom, so I left and went to the service desk to tell my supervisor about the situation. I thought a girl should take a look at the mess. However, the girl who was supposed to work that night called in, so I was sent back; I was the only competent bagger there that night. I returned with a helper named Chad to attack the scene.

As we started working, we moved a stack of loose toilet paper beside the toilet and found two nicely-laid turds, which only added insult to injury. There was a lot of blood in the middle of toilet paper under the t.p. dispenser. I began to get dizzy.

"Nasty bitches,” I said. “Oh my God, what nasty bitches. There is no way a dude could do something this nasty.”

My detective abilities buckled. No amount of curiosity would permit further investigation into that bloody wad of paper. The thought of a fetus or something else lying in there still haunts me to this day, and even now I still can't rule out that possibility.

I went outside for some fresh air and considered on how to finish the cleanup job.

When Chad and I came back, we removed the smeared turd on the toilet seat and addressed the urine on the floor, leaving just the blood. It looked somewhat fresh, so I flushed the toilet in the hopes that a portion of it would dissolve, leaving only the blood on the toilet’s rim. No dice. It had started to coagulate, and there was a lot of it--Chad and I guessed half a pint or so between the toilet paper and the toilet itself. Chad doused the blood with bleach (I was nauseated at this point) but it remained, although weakened. It had been cleaning for almost an hour, so I determined it was time to get the Hell out of there. We put a sign on the door, locked it from the inside, and left.

I couldn't sleep that night; and afterward, I couldn't look at the common woman the way I did before. I now suspected filth. I now expected foulness. I not only learned that women could be nasty, but that they could be way nastier than men. I have been forever changed by that experience, and it haunts me, still.

Perhaps the subject of shit should be included in this age-old saying.

For years now, I have been playing a little game called Hypothetical with my colleagues. In this game, we stop what we’re doing, turn to someone, and say, “Hypothetical”. Then, with a straight face and stern tone, we force that person to answer an outrageous multiple-choice question. By doing this, I’ve learn something about the primal characters of the persons with whom I’ve played.

So, I would like to ask the community here at PoopReport three shitty hypotheticals--think of it as the shit version of the MCAT.

Question #1

You have been magically transformed into a public restroom toilet. Consequently, people are not only going to piss and shit in you, but they’re also going to piss and shit all over you. In which of these three locations would you choose to be installed?

1. A gas station in Gary, Indiana, shortly before noon: A vacationing family of four has just pulled in for a pit stop, and two hours ago, every one of them ate a greasy fast food breakfast.
2. The toilet at a Red Lobster during any day of the week.
3. The toilet at an Old Country Buffet: It is 1:30 PM on a Sunday afternoon, and a college football team has just been seated for some greasy hangover food. They were shit-faced drunk twelve hours ago.

Question #2

If you could take every dump you were going to dump for the rest of your life in the course of the next 72 hours and somehow survive to tell your story (and I mean every bit left in your lifetime), would you do it?

1. Yes. I’d get it over with. Think of the time and money I would save.
2. No. There’s no way I could handle crapping that much at once. Besides, my toilet would choke to death.
3. Maybe. I’m a bit curious, maybe even intrigued. But won’t my asshole have serious structural damage?

Question #3

You’re in the bathroom of a Denny’s and its high noon, and your family is waiting for you in the car. You’ve just dropped a terrible PBR-induced beer shit. There’s no toilet paper, but the deed is done, so you have to MacGyver something to wipe your butt. What are you going to use?

1. Bid farewell to a garment of clothing you received as a birthday present (e.g., sock, tie, or bandanna).
2. Fish a discarded, used Kleenex out of the garbage can.
3. Say goodbye to your last pack of smokes.
4. Flake it off with the hot-air hand dryer.
5. Fashion a make-shift bidet out of the sink with a crumpled straw and some old bubble gum.

Don’t be afraid to come up with your own shitty hypotheticals, and learn about the people around you!

Thankfully, these people belong to the PoopReport community, and they are generous with their gastric failures. Let's choose one of these colonic mishaps as the best.

With Apologies To EAP
by Dr. Strangelove


"I began thinking of how ridiculously awful the situation was: a beautiful woman I barely know sleeping (hopefully) mere feet from where I am alternately pissing a mixture of Mexican and German beer out my ass and releasing noxious fumes in thunderous clouds that threaten to overwhelm the poor vent fan. This puts me into paroxysms of laughter, forcing another thought into my head: now this new guy is not only defiling the bathroom in God only knows what way, he's laughing hysterically about it as well."

Heaving Las Vegas
by Pill Pooper

"My once hospital-sterilized bathroom now smelled like the inside of a fake leg (bonus points if you know what movie that’s from). I pulled off about one thousand yards of toilet paper to throw on top of the vomit puddle that was streaming in from the adjacent stall. “Only in Vegas,” I said to myself. My debauched neighbor finished his ordeal, cleaned himself up ,and quietly exited to leave me there in my own filth."

Knothead And The Locked Door
by plop cop

"I heard him step to the door. I heard him grab the handle. I heard the lock strain. I could tell it was about to fail. I saw the door swing WIDE open and there before me were all my coworkers going about their business. I looked that self-centered idiot right in the eye, stretched my open hand towards him, and yelled 'Jesus! Lord! Help me! Hold my hand! Hold my hand! It's gonna rip me apart!'"

My Big Shat Greek Bedding
by El Scumbag

"Opening my eyes slightly, I could see the slumbering figure of a blond girl under the sheets, but no Lee. However, between us was a bedside table with an ashtray on it, and I could see that crumpled in the ashtray was a pair of tan-coloured ladies' panties.

'Hmm...' I thought. I reached over, still only half-awake, and took them, intending to sniff the musky aroma in her gusset (as one does). I brought them up to my nose, inhaling deeply, and gagged as I realised that they were caked in shit."

Hot Sauced Buns
by Bilgepump

"I tried to maneuver into my accustomed slight spread again, desperately trying to hold back the flood, but it was no use. I slid back down, and my cheeks slammed shut once more... and the blast came. Do you understand any physics? Trying to force a large quantity of anything through a narrow opening produces a tremendous amount of pressure. That pressure blasted out a vicious stream of butt juice like air through the squeezed tight neck of a balloon. Even the acoustic accompaniment sounded like the squeal of said balloon. I had shit flying up my back, flowing into my junk, and all points in between."

Take the time to enjoy their pain, and then vote for your favorite.

Last week, my brother and I joined a group of about thirty of our finance industry colleagues at a three-day program in Tampa. After several large meals, I took several large poops, per usual, all in the room. Because of my excessive pooping and toilet paper use, I blew through both rolls in our room--a new personal best. When I returned from a huge dinner, I walked into the bathroom to the painful reminder that there was no toilet paper. While I felt fortunate to remember this fact before unloading, the clock was ticking.

A normal human or other highly-evolved primate may have simply gone to the lobby to either relieve himself or request a roll of toilet paper. The first option was impossible because of my PooOCD, and the second option didn't seem like a good enough idea; since we were on the sixth floor, it would have been a risk to walk that far with this kind of load. So, with the clock ticking, I decided to angrily call the front desk to request a fresh roll. And now.

Tracy, the manager at the front desk, did not discuss her pooping history with me, but I presume it is very different from my own. She probably doesn't even poop, though I do credit Poopreport with informing me that some women actually do. While doing a little-known Indian dance to keep my ass plugged, I waited. And waited.

And waited.

Until I stopped waiting and stormed down to the lobby, with my sphincter doing all it could to stay securely in the up-right and locked position.

As I approached the front desk, I found Tracy on the phone, a young man helping a lady check in, and ten people from my program at the hotel bar nearby. I needed the toilet paper, but everyone seemed busy.

In light of the emergency, I thought it would be appropriate to cut to the front of the line; so I interrupted the lady checking in and angrily and loudly demanded the roll of toilet paper that I had requested almost fifteen minutes ago over the phone. I also saw fit to issue a warning to the lady to get out while she could before her check-in.

Seeing the fire in my eyes (and perhaps smelling the poop in my intestines) Tracy got off the phone promptly and told me to calm down, which I did. When I restated my complaint--that I had called fifteen minutes earlier--she responded by saying that I’d only called one minute ago.

“Wrong answer, Tracy,” I responded, "Why don't you pull up the call log, bitch?"

She declined, and then she told me to calm down. I'm not sure if Tracy was suicidal and hoped I would kill her, or if she truly wanted me to calm down.

Regrettably, I did not kill her. Instead, I began screaming.

"I HAVE NO TOILET PAPER AND I CALLED FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO TO TAKE A SHIT."

Everyone in the lobby turned to look, and the lady checking in began to laugh.

Tracy, getting a bit angry herself, told me there was no need to use that kind of language. And at that point, all bets were off.

With no bodily control outside of my sphincter, I screamed louder.

"I'M PAYING TO STAY IN THIS HOTEL. I JUST TOOK A SHIT IN MY ROOM AND HAD TO WIPE MY [expletive] ASS WITH A [expletive] NEWSPAPER."

Of course, this was not true, but it had a good effect with the audience. If I hadn't had the attention of the full lobby and bar before, I had it now. Tracy backed off and handed me the roll.

As I hustled back to my room to relieve the impending crisis, I sat on the toilet, ready for the explosion that would ruin the maid's day tomorrow. I was thinking Mt Vesuvius 79 AD, Hiroshima 1945, or chocolate soft serve ice-cream, only louder and stinkier.

As I began to squeeze, I realized I had made a horrible mistake.

I kept squeezing, but the unfamiliar feeling of Just Gas hit me hard. I fired a blank; there was no poop to be had. But alas, with a fresh roll of toilet paper, I think I made a statement to my colleagues.

I was overcome with disappointment and frustration when a knock on the door broke my train of thought. I opened the door to find Tracy holding a gift bag filled with Coronas, a cup of sliced limes, and a bottle opener.

The moral of the story? I have no idea. But I can't wait to hear what my colleagues say in the morning. And I did toss a Snickers bar into the pool, just for Tracy.

I feel washing is a superior cleaning process than wiping, but choices for economical bidet attachments/washlets are currently limited in the United States. Despite this fact, I was able to find a bidet attachment that I think will satisfy all my picky requirements. This report may help you as well.

Traditional stand-alone bidets are quite expensive. They also require that you undergo a home renovation and have a fairly large bathroom in the first place, which we do not; we live in a small condo, and space is valuable. Traditional bidets empty via a very small drain, much like a sink rather than flushing. Of course you don't void in a traditional bidet, but the limited drainage is a limitation that toilet bidets (toilets with a bidet attachment) don’t have. To use a traditional bidet, you've also got to get up from the toilet with a soiled and wet butt and waddle over to the traditional bidet, with your pants around your ankles, just to get a wash. Even if I could afford the space and cost of having a stand-alone bidet installed, I don’t feel it’s convenient or easy to use.

High-tech electronic bidets, like those found in many parts of Asia--especially Japan--are great. I've used them abroad and love them, but they are expensive, typically ranging from 400 to 2000 U.S. dollars, depending on the number of unnecessary--but really cool--features they include. Nor are they manufactured in the West, to my knowledge, which requires expensive importation and design concepts that are often a miss for many Americans. Simple is often better, and most of us in the United States don't have an outlet beside the toilet. For a quick and easy conversion to the bidet, the non-robotic type that doesn't require electricity is probably best. These types are usually an entire seat replacement, and as I mentioned before, I am a mother to a toddler who’s long been using the potty; we use a family toilet seat with a smaller child seat built in. Until bidet seat makers start considering much smaller toilet users, replacing the seat is out of the question.

Handheld bidets, shataffs, or Indian/Arab showers are other options and very popular for followers of Islam and American cloth diapering moms as well; but as a method for washing private areas after using the bathroom this has got to be the worst method right after tissue. Putting the handle between your legs or under your poopy bottom will no doubt lead to accidental contamination of the nozzle. Without a certain level of precision, your bathroom will be subjected to damaging and messy waterworks, and there is slim chance for self-sufficiency for children, the elderly, and the disabled. Unless you are using a splitter to combine a shower bidet with a toilet attachment-style bidet, allowing you to have both at your disposal, you are unlikely to maximize the benefits of bidet use for personal cleaning.

Most basic toilet bidet attachments rest inside your toilet bowl, under the rim. Some are equipped with automatic nozzles that hide themselves inside of the spray arm, or a special housing when not in use, as a means of keeping the spray nozzle clean. In addition to that, some models also have a self-cleaning function that clears the nozzle before and after use. Still, there are some that have the audacity to rest in or near the toilet bowl and neglect either of these features altogether. Because our goal with bidet use is to be cleaner and not to spread disease and fecal matter amongst one another, I strongly object to the under-the-rim or the back-of-the-bowl types when they are without self-cleaning and self-retracting nozzles. Personally, I prefer a bidet that keeps the arm completely out of the toilet when not in use, but these are few and far between.

I've only come across three types of bidet attachments ingenious enough to design an out-of-toilet method of spray arm storage: they are USABidet, Bidex Bidet, and Rim Bidet. (The latter two are manufactured in Canada.) Unfortunately, both USABidet and Bidex Bidet require you to drill into your existing toilet seat or use the bidet pre-installed on a toilet seat. (See photo below.)

This limits the user to the types of seats they can choose, as they must be able to accept and maintain the installation via drilling, which some plastic seats might not. Drilling holes also permanently changes your toilet seat, which eliminates this option for renters, unless they also replace their toilet seats. In this point RimBidet really shines. Unlike any other bidet attachment on the market, it uses a revolutionary spring action to lift the bidet arm out of the way of the toilet when the seat is lifted, leaving the bowl completely empty for standing urination or cleaning. (See photo at Rimbidet.com.) There is no need to alter your existing toilet seat in any way. When the seat is down and in use, the semi-elliptical spray arm is out of the way, snug against the bottom of your toilet seat, and not under the rim in your toilet bowl, or hovering under the rim in back.

So, after researching what seems like hundreds of models, I think Rim Bidet is my choice. I'll probably add a hot water mixer since I happen to be super-sensitive to cold temperatures, but this doesn't seem to be the case for most bidet users who do just fine with cold only hook ups.

Rim Bidet has the following advantages:

          It stays under the seat (not in the toilet) when not in use.

          It uses an ingenious, spring-loaded design to lift the spray arm when                 the seat is lifted.

          It does not require drilling to install, and can be used with almost any                 existing toilet seat, including family toilet seats.

          Its semi-elliptical design may allow for better adjustment without                         having to move on the seat, which is great for women and children.

          It is composed of stainless steel and brass parts, as opposed to non-               durable plastic, and possibly toxic, PVC/vinyl.

Plus, it has all the common benefits of normal bidet use.

When my Rim Bidet arrives, I will submit a user review. I am eager to test its compatibility with my toddler’s child seat, as well as test the possibility of an enema-type internal wash in a similar way as has been reported by USABidet customers. I hope my considerations and research can help you choose the right bidet for your families as well.

I haven't had any blood in my stool for three weeks, but in these three weeks I've had a greenish stool, repeatedly, and my lower right side hurts sometimes, especially when I wipe.

I have also been a little nauseated in the past week, on and off, and I've had headaches, which I usually never do. Also, my period is two weeks late; but I'm not pregnant. I don't know if any of my symptoms are related, but that's all the issues I have, and I thought I'll mention them.

Does anyone have any suggestions and to what it could be? I'm a little worried, but I got laid off a few months ago, and I don't have health insurance to go check myself out. I don't know what to do. Thank You!

One of the fellas, who I'll call Frank, was from New Jersey, and we named him The Aroma. It was a name he earned time and again while in my presence, but none more memorable than the day of the cookout in question. We were standing around the grill bullshitting, drinking
beer, and burning meat when Frank announced he had to drop the kids off at the pool and disappeared. About ten minutes later, I needed something and went inside to get it, and as I came through the door, I saw my twelve year-old son sitting in a lounge chair, in front of the TV, with his shirt over his nose.

His eyes were watering and he looked like he was frozen in shock. The shitter was down the hall, but Frank's hole never got the message that the war was over for us, and he was still launching ordinance, firing for effect, just like he always did. The stench permeated the hall, living room, and kitchen. I could hear his tuba tooting the tune quite loudly, and I could also smell the stench, one I'd smelled many times before. I was hardened to The Aroma's chemical warfare, but alas, my poor son had never endured a gas attack of that magnitude. I walked over to him and asked him why he sat frozen there. He whispered that he didn't want to hurt Frank's feelings because we’d just returned from the war and all, so he was gonna’ take it until it passed or he died.

It was then that Frank came out of the shitter and approached my son. He'd heard me ask my son what was wrong, and I could see Frank rumble a bit with a chuckle.

He placed his hand on my son's shoulder and proudly stated, "Son, someday you might be able to do that." And with that, he went to the fridge, got another beer, and went outside to the grill. My son pulled his shirt down to take a clean breath, but the stench was still in the room. His eyes watered all over again and he ran outside to the front yard to breathe. Thanks for the reminder, Chief.

As I child I was a shameful shitter and afraid of the toilet, because I dreaded clogging it and having to tell my parents. This, of course, led to cycles of constipation and clogging, where I would wait until the last possible moment to take a dump.

If I remember correctly, we had a poop jar for a while to encourage me to crap more regularly. I got to put a quarter in every time I took a dump. It didn't last long, though. My parents didn't really follow through, and I didn't like my bathroom habits being the topic of dinner discussion.

But, alas, this story is really not about me. It is about my sister.

She and I were playing in the field one day. My sister was three years younger than I was, and at this point, a major annoyance in my life, but she looked up to me and tried to follow me around wherever I went. I was digging up one of earlier mentioned boulders to put into my parent's rock garden. I was very involved in extracting this rock that weighed much more than me, using two-by-fours as levers and a wheelbarrow at the ready, when my sister made an announcement.

"I have to poop!"

Thinking nothing of her comment, I ignored her and kept on messing with the rock.

"I really have to poop!"

Our house, mind you, was mere yards away, so I said, "If you have to poop, just go!"

Paying no more mind to her, I focused in on the rock; it probably weighed more than five times as much as I did. While I was carefully shifting it into the wheelbarrow, I noticed my sister just standing there. I managed to get the rock in the wheelbarrow.

"I thought you said you have to poop."

"I did," she said. It was then that I saw how her skorts were sagging. Being the constipated shameful shitter I was at the time, I could not imagine anyone, ever, being able to shit on the spot, let alone in their pants.

I was freaked out. I knew I would be blamed for this, because I told her to just go! While I meant for her to walk the thirty yards to our bathroom, I knew that my parents would only hear that I told her to crap, and not how or where to crap.

"Why didn't you go inside to poop?"

"You said to just go." It was just as I thought. I was toast.

"I didn't mean in your pants. Mom and Dad are going to be pissed."

She started crying as the rock she just moved weighed down her pants. I start laughing because it was a really funny sight. I knew I was going to be blamed, so I figured I might as well enjoy it while I could. It looked like we both just moved a boulder.

We walked to the house. When we arrived, I told her to go in the bathroom and deposit the log in the proper receptacle. She almost sneaked past Mom, but of course, Mom turned her head at the right second and saw immediately what was going on in my sister's drawers.

"Did you crap your pants!"

"The Dapper Crapper told me to!"

Just as I thought. Toast.

"Dapper Crapper, wait until your father comes in from the garage."

Yes. I was punished for my sister crapping her pants.

Instead of feeling good about pooping, because I'm going to get rid of bodily waste, I fear the pain that comes with it. I have been to so many doctors over the past five years that I don't remember all of them. One even removed my appendix, but it didn't solve my problem.

I've noticed that now when I wake up in the morning my stomach still hurts from pooping the night before; the pain lasts all night and into the morning. What should I do? I have tried probiotics, fiber, and lactaid-free diets. Instead of feeling good after I go, I am in pain for hours, or sometimes, days. Please, if you have any suggestions to help me, let me know.

This story begins with our young, furry friend on a hot July day in 2004. She has been out to the yard once, with much coaxing. After letting out a short stream of pee, she eagerly ran back inside to find a cool spot under a table. We merely shrugged and locked the door. We spent the afternoon out.

I should tell you that Belle doesn't poop normally. That is not to say she is irregular, but rather while most dogs poop in a single pile, Belle will instead drop a nugget, walk a few steps, drop another, walk, launch a couple more, and then squat while walking in an S-shape and sniff, as a trail forms behind her. We call her the B-52 Bomber. She also craps on the patio; my dad refers to these incidents as "pudding drops" or "dodes". "Dode" is his word for dog poop.

Back to the afternoon in question--Belle was inside and no one was home. We'd tried to get her to go to the bathroom, like I said, but with no avail--at least not from a number two perspective. She went up to my brother's room while we were out and launched an air strike.

Upon our return, I went upstairs with my new treasures from Target and smelled something rather foul. I knew I'd find the source somewhere, but until then I watched where I stepped. I cautiously looked in each room until I got to my brother's, where on top of a rug we'd gotten no more than three weeks earlier, I found at least half a dozen piles of shit. I could see her walking pattern in these semi-soft, green cobblestones. The window was shut during our absence, and the sun streamed in (as this room faces the south). Because of these facts, the lumps emitted a halo of nasty steam that wafted eventually throughout the entire upstairs. Belle could not be located until we provided her with jet fuel, that is to say we filled her bowl, and she came running.

Of course we didn't punish her, she was inside! We just tried to get her used to going outside in the grass. I still have the image of these gas-emitting piles in my mind. My ten-year-old eyes saw them that day and wondered how a sixty pound dog could produce so much shit; and further, how my mom could stand picking it up with a plastic bag over her hand and her face pointed the opposite direction. This was to become a mundane activity in my house. Belle is the sweetest dog...except for her butt.

With regards to treating Clostridium difficile(C. diff) with Oral Vancomycin, are there any side effects or downside for the Vancomycin coming into contact with the gut and intestinal flora before it gets to the colon, which is where it is needed? Would it make sense for someone to develop an oral Vancomycin product that is delivered to the colon without it contacting the stomach or small intestine?

I noticed that Metronidazole, which is also used to treat C.diff, can be coated for colonic delivery, but this seems to be used for intestinal amoebiasis. I assume it has to be colonically delivered because Metronidazole is absorbed when taken orally, so little to none of it would get to the colon. How does oral Metronidazole work for C.diff if it is absorbed orally?

Another antibiotic is Linezolid, which is also used for C. diff. My question is the same for Linezolid as the questions above. Does it need to be colonically delivered?

Thanks very much,

Gary