A poo in a human's world is forced to adhere to human rules. Free will? Neither T.O.T. nor Mr. Pooh have it, although both clearly pine for it. If the scientists who created the Bristol Stool Scale [4] made a continuum charting the psychological attitudes of animated pieces of feces, Mr. Pooh would be at the far opposite end from our late, lamented Teed Off Turd. Mr. Pooh travels mutely, without complaint, his mouth staying shut while his big eyes quietly observe whatever new circumstance his strange life outside the bowl has wrought. Sometimes things go good, and he's in a car with a pretty woman; and sometimes things go bad, and he's chopped in half with a weed whacker; but no matter what happens, his stoic expression never changes. What is that expression in his eyes? Patient suffering? Desperate yearning? Or something more devious -- behind his dispassionate mask, is he perhaps watching? Learning? Scheming? Keenly observing all there is to know about our world outside the bowl, knowing one day he'll use his knowledge against us to wreak his horrible vengeance?
One day we'll learn what Mr. Pooh feels. Until then, we can only observe him wherever he pops up next: Mr. Pooh, a sentient being caught in the terror of an infinite loop.
