i never answer the phone when i'm pooping!

however, i really can't even think of many times that my phone has rang while i was pooping.

i generally don't like being on the phone anyway, so i'm not gonna interrupt my personal poop time to talk to someone on the phone when i can just call them back in a minute when i'm done.
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i love poop.

I hate cell phones, I don't own one. To realize that I am accessible to billions of people is a disturbing thought. I occasionally retreat to wooded vistas to get my thoughts together. If something happens while I am there I will learn about it later.

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Eat chilies and feel the burn!!

I only answer the phoen while Im pooping for this one girl I absoutly hate that calls me all the time XD

All things should be done in the order of importance. Pooping trumps cell phones. In fact, pooping trumps everything.

I might share a few of my ass ruminations with a telemarketer.
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My special needs student crapped in your honor roll student's backpack.

I am not the most coordinated person on the planet. I would probably answer the roll of toilet paper and wipe my ass with the phone. Therefore I avoid it.

That would mean a lack of concentration, not coordination, PD...jeez...lolz
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The Original Grasshopper

My cell phone almost always seems to start ringing when I'm busy bombing the Tidy Bowl Man... luckily it's also almost never in the room with me!
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The moral behind the movie 'The Matrix' is even if you are the almighty 'One' you still have to answer the telephone.

Why ruin a quiet moment in the midst of a chaotic day? They will call back.

I'm like you, PD. Sometimes when I'm in the crapper, I get confused about what I'm supposed to wipe my ass with as I languish in that blissful post-shit state. When that happens, nothing is safe. I haven't wiped my ass with the floor mat or the shower curtain yet, but I will say that the copy of the Quran that I keep by the crapper is missing more than a few pages.
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My special need's student crapped in your honor roll student's backpack.

I never answer the phone or cell phone while taking a dump! If my stomach is having one of it's shit fits, believe me, you don't want to talk to me and I SURE am in no mood to talk to anyine else!!!

Plus the added confusion having to explain the outbursts of "yes Yes YES!" and "Oh sweet Jesus!"

I'll answer to just about anyone.
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Russell the shitting queen

I'll answer for a few people mostly because it will either A) be impossible to get ahold of them once they hang up and 2) they'll just keep calling till I answer.
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Earth, insane asylum for the universe.

The only time my phone goes in the bathroom with me is if I am expecting an important call and I can't wait any longer to go.

Normally I use the cell phone only to call out, and I don't do that while pooping. However, if I am awaiting a return call, I'll leave the phone on; then, if I have to go, I go, not knowing when the return call may come. If the phone then rings, even if I am in mid-turd, I'll answer it. That's called multi-tasking, even if at opposite ends of me, and the person at the other phone need not know of it unless I choose to tell him (or her). All in a day's work.

MSG, unless you are in a carpeted bathroom, the other person knows.

I'll answer it no matter who's on the phone, but I'll most likely tell anyone with the exception of my husband, kids, or best friends that I need to call them back in five minutes.

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

Daphne.....hello
Caller.....hi Daphne is that you?
Daphne.....can I call you back in 5 minutes?
Caller.....ok *mumbles, another shit?*

Oddly enough, this happened to me not 24 hours ago.

Yesterday morning at about 10.30 I was having my second dump of the day, when my phone chirruped from the pocket of my ankle-level trousers. ' Anonymous Caller ' flashed the screen, but I still had the secondary plops to come out, so I toyed with the idea of answering it and talking while actually passing my arsefudge or letting the voicemail take it, but I decided to answer. It was an employment agent who’d seen my CV (résumé) online and wanted to chat about possible employment. Well, I’m actively seeking work at the moment since being made redundant at the end of last year, so I wasn’t going to pass this one up.

As you’ll be aware, when the trapdoor is opened, gravity takes over and that first log emerges with a satisfying crackle and splash, but the secondary ‘afterturds’ take a few seconds to wiggle their way down to the exit and being considerably smaller, have to be pushed out with a little effort. However, I’m not used to holding those afterturds back and it’s an automatic reflex to get them out, but I concentrated and clenched, and it felt most uncomfortable not to be able to let my poo emerge. I could feel it all claggy around my anus, where I had squashed the head of an emergent plopper but as he launched into his standard agency spiel and wanted to talk through my career path over the past few years, I wanted to release the remaining chocolate hostages and I fear that it may have shown in my voice as I grimaced and grunted in discomfort

'What was that?' he suddenly blurted, 'Have I called at a bad time? Are you OK?'
'It’s fine' I replied hurriedly, ' It’s nothing, please carry on '
So he did. He had obviously rehearsed a big long speech about the company he was recruiting for, so I was prepared to let him finish it. I placed my finger over the mouthpiece and let my poor arsehole relax once more, sighing as I felt it spit the smooth and slippery nuggets into the bowl with each anal wink, but as for what he was saying, I haven’t a clue. I returned the phone to my ear just he was getting to '...all this info will be in the email I’m about to send you, so please read through ... ' and grunted a sighing ' yes ...no problem...' in reply.

' Are you sure you’re OK?' this irritating bastard interjected once more. I had crap over my rump and was in need of a wipe, but the worst was over. ' Yes, I’m fine!' I replied, a little too forcibly. 'Why do keep asking that?'
'You just sound a little, er, distracted. I can always call back later if it’s inconvenient ...' he carried on.
'No' I retorted, 'It’s nothing, I’m just feeling a little unwell... a headache...'
'Oh, well I’m not feeling too chipper myself...' he said, endeavouring to suggest some sort of empathy, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, but returned to his well-rehearsed cue sheet and began to ask me questions about my skills and experience.
With my phone in my left hand pressed to my ear I answered as best I could while with my right I pulled a length of Andrex off the roll, leaned forward, lifted my right buttock and pressed the wad of TP against my beshitted hoop for the first swipe. I had rehearsed my answers from previous conversations with these people, so it was breeze to allow my mouth to go on auto-pilot and talk about business I’d dealt with, while I continued to scrunch, wipe and claw at my arsehole, trying not to inflame or irritate the remains of Clement, my haemorrhoid, who was still clinging to life despite weeks of ointment applications. Finally, a Huggies aloe vera wet wipe soothed and polished my nipsy as I continued talking about past clients, interviews I’d had so far and he made notes at the other end with the occasional 'Uh huh...yep...right... '

Of course, I still had my doctor’s instructions to insert a suppository or ointment after bowel movements, so I fumbled for the packet, tore the foil off one while describing the databases I’d worked with and pressed the wax bullet into my hole. Now it’s impossible to do this without a sharp intake of breath, but I like to think I did a pretty good job of disguising it, because as luck would have it, the doorbell rang and as soon as it chimed, I pushed the suppository into my anus with a wince and a sigh. The visitor was Natasha, my lady’s niece, who was due to visit that morning as we were taking her out.
'I’m going to have to finish this call now' I told him through gritted teeth, 'The doorbell’s just rung...'
'Yes, I heard it' he replied testily 'no problem, well, I’ll send you everything you need in the email...' he began, but I interrupted him saying 'OK, got to go now, speak soon...' and taking my cue, I stood up, pushed the handle and flushed, pointing the phone at the swirling bowl before pressing the red button to hang up.

He hasn’t called back. I haven’t yet had his email. But fuck it, I don’t think I would have wanted the job anyway. Too far to travel.

I will generally answer the phone while pooping. It doesn't bother me too much. its either work, my girl, or one of my friends. If I don't answer work, they will keep calling every 30 seconds until I do. My girl and my friends don't know (or care?). I had one friend who would always call me to say he was taking a shit and talk until he was done. I guess I got used to the idea.

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Number One . . . I order you to take a number two.

It's only happened once when I was selling my late mothers house and was expecting a call from the estate agent (realtor). Sure enough it went off when I was using the downstairs loo; the one with less sound deadening. I tried not to let anything more go but as I shifted position I let out a BARRANGG! type fart. There was a pause in the conversation from the girl at the other end before she gamely carried on. I'm sure she knew what she'd heard.

Funny story, ES.

I'm sure you'll soon find a job that's worth a shit, so hang in there.

Nobody's said boss yet. I might answer if my boss called, and then hold the phone down in the bowl and rip a loud, long fart.

But then I might get a shitty assignment when I show up for work that day.

Sister in Law would be my first choice to practice the mouth and ass multitask. She gets all bent out of shape if you don't answer. Hate her. Hate calling her back. She's one of those people who calls and leaves a message like, "Hey, I need to talk to you. Call me back." Just fooking tell me what you want in your bleepin message! I'd do everything possible to make sure she knew I was mid-poop. I am thinking that I need to sit in bathroom acoustics when she calls from now on, as a matter of fact. Maybe her calls will be shorter.

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To affect the quality of the poo, that is the art of life. ~Thoreau, sort of.

I'll answer the phone on the can, I dont care. I'll even grunt in mid conversation too.

I never have the phone on my person when I am at home. It'll be sitting on the kitchen table or my desk, far from the bathroom. I will sum up my feelings thusly: THE POOP TAKES PRECEDENCE OVER ALL COMMUNICATIONS!!! This is what voice mail is for. Rather enjoy an uninterrupted poop session, silly pointless conversations can wait while I tend to much more important matters, namely THE POOP!
----Captain Craptastic!!!

Clement?! I love it, but why? Is it so big it's taken on it's own identity? If I had 'roid, I'd name it Mavis.

I answer for my friend Sharty, doctor's offices confirming appointments, teachers, my dad, anyone but my husband, who I just know can sense I'm stinking it up.

I'll actually tell Sharty what I'm doing. She's the only person I feel I can discuss my bathroom adventures with. If I tell her while on the phone that I'm taking a power dump, she's never offended and often counters with her own shit story. Sigh, friendship. Last week she told me she shat her pants at work during a particularly brutal hangover and my laughter helped squeak out the last of the poop lingering in my bum.

Poops, she sounds like she would enjoy PR. Tell her to check it out and maybe contribute some of her tales.

And yes, my 'roid is called Sir Clement Pink. Full story on the 'ask poonurse' forum. Sadly, he's dying and only a small anal lump remains. The death today of my ex-client Sir Clement Freud (Clement Freuds being rhything slang) is an irony that has not gone unnoticed.

If I'm on the toilet I'll answer the phone, no matter who it is, but depending on who it is, then I'll tell them what I'm 'dooing'. When my significant other calls, or a co-worker I know has a sense of humour when it comes to 'bathroom habits', that's when I'll tell them "I'm just takin' a dump", non-chalantly, like it's no big deal. Sometimes I get laughs, but if it's my SO, she'll say things like "OMG! You pig-man you!".

i voted that i would answer for a family member but really i will answer to anyone if it is not a noisy difficult one. i will save the flush until i hang up for nonfamily callers but close friends and family get to hear the flush.
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...And their flesh like dung. Zeph. 1:17

My friends and I call each other all the time whilst on the pot. We've even had a "potty party" where we 6-wayed and took a group crap.

^^^lol thats the best part answering the phone on the can, is when they hear the flush and then they realize what you were doing!!! Its priceless!

I'm sorry (or maybe the rest of the world is grateful) but I will never answer the phone while on the crapper. My father, on the other hand, used to call people from the crapper. This was pre-stroke, so he still had use of both sides of his body. I learned never to ask him what he was doing when he called, because it might translate to what he was DOO-ing.

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Have a crappy day!
La Petomaine

I will answer the phone if I know you wether I am on the crapper or not. If my ass cannon fires off a volley well now thats just too bad now isnt it?!
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AHHHHHEMMMMMMMMMM JUST CLEARING MY THROAT!! ;)

I prefer no company, live or through the airways, while pooping. I am not shameful and if necessary will dump in a public stall with no door but would rather have privacy. Occasionally the stench is such that everyone else leaves and I have privacy anyway.

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Eat chilies and feel the burn!!

Damn, Chief. You must be pretty rank if you can scare away callers with the stench from your ass ruminations.
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My special needs student crapped in your honor roll student's backpack.

The real problem with the Chief is that the stench can actually travel through the phone lines. You could get a puff of pure evil right in your ear.

i can smell Chief's stench from here over the keyboard. peeee yew Chief! What did you eat last night!
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...And their flesh like dung. Zeph. 1:17

I had my usual evening meal of pickled roadkill, moldy cabbage, fermented beans and an overripe durian for dessert. BURRPPPP!!

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Eat chilies and feel the burn!!

I answer for my boss. I am my boss, so I'd kind of like to know how I called myself. Pooping is a precious, sacred thing, but so are perturbing mysteries of the universe.

Does that count as "other"?

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I found Jesus! He was behind the sofa the whole time!

I answer, "MMC's shit excavators you fill it we drill it, MMC speaking." The ones who don't hang up I keep talking to. If they can make it all the way to the end of the conversation with my grunting and moaning I'm going to die, the flush and hand washing then they must be the Mister because he's the only one who just laughs the whole time and asks me if it's a fighter.
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Earth, insane asylum for the universe.

I even proudly advertise what I'm doing when they ask what I'm up to, and hope that there are a few looud farts that echo off the bowl. We even make calls while taking a shit, especially if it's making pissed off calls to customer service for our phone provider, telemarketers, etc.

'Mark' is my genuine Christian name, but 'Law Murphy' refers to the law (sometimes called Sod's Law) which I'm sure was made for my entry into the world - anything that can go wrong does go wrong (or so it seems sometimes). Things happen to me when I am wiping my anatomy.

Well, when I was doing post-graduate research at university, on the way home I stayed a few nights with one of my best friends. On the morning when I was leaving, I was picking my younger brother Andrew up from his own university, and our parents from the airport. Whom I picked up first depended on the arrival time of their overnight flight. The arrangement was that my mum would phone me when the plane arrived, while my dad waited for the luggage to come through on the carousel. We had estimated that she would be ringing about 9 am. We had showered and had breakfast, and my friend helped me load the car.

So about 8.30 I told my friend, ’I think I’ll go on the toilet if it’s OK with you. I don’t want to be there when Mum rings.’ Well planned, you see, for once. He said, ‘well if she rings before you’ve finished, I’ll keep her talking.’ I said ‘she’ll probably know where I am.’ He said ‘Well, she knows you sit on the toilet - she’d be worried if you didn’t.’ So off I went, locked the door, and dropped my jeans to my ankles and relaxed. Then the bell rang - I prayed that it was someone else, for I was in the middle of my daily dump. Stuart my friend knocked the door - ‘It’s your Mum. She’s guessed where you are. She says “Wipe your bottom properly”. It wasn’t the first time she had said that to me. I wiped, flushed everything away, and did myself up, and washed my hands. When I appeared, Stuart handed me the phone and I shouted down in a haughty voice ’Mother, my bottom is so clean that you could eat your breakfast off it.’ ’It wasn’t always’, she said. (That referred to an old family story, no doubt embroidered over the years, that I used to wipe Andrew’s bottom when he was little, cleaner than I wiped my own.)

I don’t answer the phone when in the loo. I hate it most when guys use mobiles when standing at a public urinal.

In my house, where I live alone at the moment, the milkman often calls for his money in the middle of my I wiping session on a Friday morning. I waddle to a window and open it, and pass the money through.

If it's a family member or my best friend I'll answer. I only answer family members just in case it was an emergency or something but I'll answer my best friend since he wouldn't really care if we were talking while taking a crap just as we didn't make any poop orgasm sounds.