+==+== SEPTEMBER.09.01 / 15:26:24 ==+==+

Distribution of soiled underwear in public restrooms is taking place at unprecedented levels. The masses are experiencing O.P.P. on an almost daily basis. But it is time that we started hitting harder targets to raise the morale of the troops -- and hit those people that are unlikley to be using public restrooms. We also have to inspire the people in the street that secretly hope our underground resistance group will continue the battle, and whom we hope will someday join the fight.

The war was about to be taken up a notch, and the mall stood out as a clean, sterile atmosphere overrun with consumer zombies. We hoped that by forcing them to experience our soiled underwear we could open their minds, and infect them with an experience outside of what they were expecting. It was a long shot -- we knew that the odds were stacked against us from the beginning.

I was chosen for the infiltration when Ed's rock beat my scissors.

For this evening's mission, I would be wearing a conservative dark blue business suit and tie, both by Brooks Brothers. The shirt was from DKNY, with a button-down collar and long sleeves. Cufflinks were optional so I left them at home. The poopy pants were classic Fruit of the Loom, well worn and now highlighted by the thick dark brown streak running up its rear. I tucked them up the sleeve of my jacket, secretly hoping the chocolate wouldn't melt and run down my arm, giving away my identity. I placed an extra bar of Symphony milk chocolate in my pocket and tried to push thoughts of the dry cleaning bill out of my head.

The fake mustache itched and I wondered why the hell I was wearing it. Security precautions, right. O.P.P. is no game. At every placing of poopy pants there is the potential for mob justice -- a broom handles and torches kind of thing. People hate what they don't understand -- and they are deathly afraid of the bodily fluids we used to play in as kids.

Lord and Taylor is expensive for most people. I had my platinum card ready in case they had started screening out the undesirables. Someday, but not today. Every display case is polished and objects that cost more than most peoples' weekly paychecks are bought on a whim by kids with cell phones who have never worked a day in their life. I find the dressing rooms and grab a Claiborne sweater from off the racks as a cover.

The poopy pants are a stark contrast to the light color scheme of the dressing rooms. It needed something though. I took out the now partially-melted chocolate bar and bit off a piece. I chewed and swished it around in my mouth and bent down to the underwear. Opening my mouth, the dark wet paste oozed and landed on the underwear with a plop. Perfect, like diahrea dribbles.

A quick check of my teeth in the mirror for residual chocolate and it's out to the mall payphones. I had already circled Lord and Taylor on the handy guide of mall store phone numbers. The phone was ringing and I was trying to calm myself, I had expected a live person to answer but it was an automated operator.

No, I don't know the extension that I want to reach. Finally, a list for all departments. I press 4 for 'Men's' and I still don't get connected, it's another damn menu. Finally I find the right department and the phone starts ringing. And ringing and ringing.

"Men's, this is Ryan how can I help you?"

"Hi, this is kind of embarrassing. I was in there earlier trying on some slacks and... well I think I left something behind in the dressing room."

"Hold on a second.... nothing was turned into us."

"Could you do me a favor and go check, it was the last stall down."

"Hold on."

I waited, anxiously wondering what he would say, imagining his reaction as he walked into that changing stall. Suddenly I was off hold but it was another man's voice, "Who is this?"

He sounded angry. I tried to stick to the story, "I was in earlier and I left something in the changing booth."

"Yeah we found it."

As he hung up I heard him mutter what sounded like "sicko" to whoever was nearby.

Operation Poopy Pants [3] had struck again.

+==+== END TRANSMISSION ==+==+