In almost every jurisdiction cruelty to animals is a crime, but the civil recovery of animal owners is limited to the chattel value of the animal.

However, if the person who kills the animal does it with the intention of injuring the peace, happiness, or feelings of the animal's owner, then the owner may recover in tort for his or her own emotional distress. Problem is, intentional torts aren't covered by insurance, so how in most instances would you collect on your judgment?

BTW--Sam, you wrote that you and Tomas "would spend hours ... inventing very odd games (like re-enacting our births, ... for instance)." I prefer to re-enact my conception.

TBW and Will, I really think LJ was joshing in a most friendly and inoffensive manner. I took it that he was trying to contrast Bilgepump and Will as people who, based on what we know about them from the site, are pretty regular, respectable folks, with Doniker who-- well, you know him better than I do.

I've probably accidentally offended more people on this site than anybody, so I've learned how easy it is to misunderstand something when all you are looking at is words on a screen, and you can't hear the person's tone of voice, or see the expression on his face, or any of the many other communication cues we use in real life. Thus, I feel badly for Logjam, because I've been there many times, and I feel badly for TBW and Will, as they clearly saw something offensive in this, albeit inadvertent.

Now, can we all please be friends? Logjam, you can take care of Bilgepump yourself.

"The only people who win every time of course, are the lawyers."

TB, how does a lawyer who takes a case on a contingency basis (meaning he doesn't get paid unless he recovers) "win every time"? Anyone with an ounce of belief in capitalism understands that the contingency fee is a powerful disincentive to baseless litigation.

It is the lawyers who get paid by the hour--i.e. the defense lawyers hired by the insurance companies--that are ruining the system.

And, dear friend Everett, I want YOU on my side "when the band begins to play," as Kipling says. I'm just glad that, unlike the writer of this story, you've evidently been fortunate enough not to need MY services up to now.

This is why I get so upset with the throngs of people who come on this site (usually to a PooNurse thread) saying "there's blood in my poop! What should I do?"

The answer as ALWAYS the same: Go To A Doctor! NOW!! This story is Exhibit A in the list of reasons why.

MPB, my sympathies are with you, and you've obviously got a lot of intelligence and spirit. Thus, I find it incomprehensible that you (and your parents) deliberately let this acute medical situation fester for almost two years before getting a proper diagnosis. Even more bizarre is that not one, but two doctors were so negligent in their treatment of you that they failed to perform a basic differential diagnosis within the standard of medical care, which absolutely would have mandated GI studies, that in turn would have revealed your Crohn's Disease at a much earlier stage.

I know several folks with this affliction, and had yours been detected earlier, it more likely than not could have been controlled with medication.

I repeat, my dear, that you are a brave person and I'm glad you have shared your story with us, but you are not only a victim of Crohn's Disease, but of parental neglect, gross medical malpractice, and of your own youthful psychological disorders.

Please let this be a warning to those who wish to keep their heads up their asses about serious medical problems: Ignoring them will not make them go away.

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

Professor Dumpster clears throat, and waits for class to come to order:

Ahem. This is a very convoluted legal question, and the answer varies much from state to state. Generally, however, a police officer has "official immunity" for his negligent acts. This is justfied by a variety of policy considerations, including how personal liability deters people from entering police work; the kind of split-second decisions officers must often make; the need to give them latitude to do their jobs; etc.

The two exceptions to "official immunity" are: (1) When the officer acts with "actual malice" (we're clearly not concerned with that here); and (2) when the officer violates a "ministerial duty"; that is, one which is so clear, definite, and certain that there can be no room for the exercise of discretion.

I think Officer Clancy would likely be in breach of his "ministerial duty" to keep his weapon (his pistol, that is) properly holstered. Clearly, no responsible cop would simply stick his piece into his waistband, no matter how urgent the Call of Nature might be.

Now, whether the City is also on the hook is another matter, beyond the scope of this lecture. Probably, they have insurance which requires them to indemnify (i.e., pay) officers for negligence claims.

But this is enough "Law and Ordure" for one day, don't you think?

Class dismissed.

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

Pinworm, I'm awfully sorry about the shitty way your company treated you, and you might have actually had some legal recourse to the extent they lied to you about the severance and so forth. However, what if everybody felt justfied in acting the way you did? According to your logic, if your neighbor doesn't like the volume of music coming from your house, he is justified in cutting your electric wires, or slashing your tires, etc.

A sixth-grader beat up my Little Dumpster (4th grade) several months back. Am I justified in harming the child? You would probably say "no," but the problem with your logic is that everbody basically gets to decide for himself what the appropriate limits of acceptable social behavior are. In other words, everyone becomes "a law unto himself."

This is the prescription for anarchy, my friend, because then we revert to the rule of force alone (i.e., the law of the jungle).

Again, I sympathize with your job loss, but you would have done them just as much harm, and yourself a lot more good, by vindicating your injuries through proper channels.

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

On another thread, Logjam writes: "Anyone else having second thoughts about what the points system on PR hath wrought?"

LJ, what are your concerns? On the thread in question, there is a squabble between Tydirium and KOC about one of them being 15th and one 16th, and disagreement about the relative quality of their contributions. This is followed by Double Flush bragging about this post getting him his 400th point, for which he is taken to task by GottaGoGirl. So there WAS a lot of points-related commentary on that thread!

Here's the main reason I like userpoints: It says something significant to me about the level of involvement here on the part of the commentor. For the most part, I'm sure you would agree that the people with the higher number of points tend to be the ones who participate not just most, but most meaningfully. Anybody who is interested in being taken seriously here quickly learns that part of the "etiquitte" of PR is that you don't brag on yourself, that it is in bad taste to call attention to how many points you are getting, and that it is unacceptable to post simply for the purpose of getting points. KOC himself is a good example of this. He went through a phase a couple of months ago where he was doing all those things, plus several others, and the CQM mods really knocked him down for it. The result has been a new and improved KOC, in my opinion.

So, if you accept the premise that there is some correspondence between number of posts and quality of posts, having userpoints lets people coming to this site (especially guests and newbies) get some idea about who they should trust, who they should pay attention to, who they should take seriously, who they should brown-nose, etc. Also, it is interesting to me to look at the difference between a person's "comment" points and his total userpoints. For example, of your 1416 total points, only 514 are for comments, leaving 902 that you earned either by contributions you've written for the site, or by the addition of bonus points for great comments (and you get more of those from me than anybody else does!). That tells me a lot about the depth and quality of your participation here.

So I think userpoints have significant value to others, entirely aside from whatever ego boost the user himself gets.

As to the Quality points, I also think that is a good feature, because it enables individual comments to be rated in comparison with what, in other contexts, is called "contemporary community standards." Thus, when I see somebody (like you) who gets a lot of +1's, it makes me look for more of your material, and attach greater significance to your comments.

Quality points also provide a means of policing unacceptable behavior short of censorship. Again, I think this helps people using this site to know how to act here.

I guess the argument on the other side is that it chills expression, squelches individuality, reduces everybody to the lowest common denominator, and generally puts PoopReport on Prozac. Maybe there's some merit to this, but it seems to me that both the userpoints and the quality points systems do far more good than harm.

Anyway, that's my opinion. Again, LJ, I would be very interested in hearing your thoughts, as well as those of others.

Then I'm a buttplug. So there.

Yeah, well maybe I'm just in a bad mood, although, unlike those of your gender, I can't blame it on my period.

Guess I'll just have to say that I'm tense because of problems with my colon being intransitive.

***Expletive deleted!***

I like it when her subordinate clause is the direct object of my dangling participle, causing her to utter some improper nouns as I split her infinitive. Sadly, however, for Dumpster, all of that is presently in the past tense.

Everett, everybody knows your true love is Maxine Waters. I heard you were going to chair her campaign (or was it campaign for her chair?).

Anyway, we're all disappointed you didn't show up for your welcoming party on the forums. Can we at least deliver the remainder of the beer and pretzels to the mouth of your cave?

_______
"Say, has anybody seen my sweet Gypsy Rose Volcano?"

Okay, class: Old McDonald, up there in Berkley fresh off the farm, is charged with "littering" and "public nuisance" when he Drained the Main Vein in a public parking lot.

Poor slob probably didn't know he was even doing anything wrong, ee-i-ee-i-o, but every dumbass is certainly familiar with the concept Ignorantia juris non excusat ("Ignorance of the law is no excuse"), so let's see if the charges against him, er, hold water.

Now, a charge of "littering" seems a bit far-fetched, until we look at the relevant section of the California Penal Code (AB2K--put down your copy of the "Penile Code" and pay attention!). Cal. Penal Code § 374 provides as follows:

§ 374. Definitions; littering; waste matter

(a) Littering means the willful or negligent throwing, dropping, placing, depositing, or sweeping, or causing any such acts, of any waste matter on land or water in other than appropriate storage containers or areas designated for such purposes.

(b) Waste matter means discarded, used, or leftover substance including, but not limited to, a lighted or nonlighted cigarette, cigar, match, or any flaming or glowing material, or any garbage, trash, refuse, paper, container, packaging or construction material, carcass of a dead animal, any nauseous or offensive matter of any kind, or any object likely to injure any person or create a traffic hazard.

So, two questions emerge, in reverse order: (1) Was McDonald's urine "waste matter" within the definition of subsection (b); and (2) was his manner of transferring it from his bladder to the ground within subsection (a)'s definition of "littering"? Clearly, urine is a "discarded, used, or leftover substance" (no, Bunga; this is NOT the place to debate your views on "golden showers"!) or a "nauseous or offensive matter" (what's that, GottaGoGirl? You gotta go? All right, sweetie; here's a hall pass).

(No, TBW and Doniker, the reference to "flaming ... material" does not render the statute discriminatory to gay persons. Would you guys please get ahold of yourselves!)

Second, was McDonald "throwing, dropping, placing, depositing, or sweeping" his piss? The facts aren't completely clear, but he evidently was successful in transferring said liquid from lizard to land, so some act of "placing or depositing" can be circumstantially inferred. Hell, if the rube had to go that bad, he may have been "sweeping"; who knows? (Sam--Damnit! Don't use the trash can; the bathroom's right down the hall!)

As to the charge of "public nuisance," many such statutes have been held void for vagueness, especially when they have been used to prosecute such activities as nude dancing, but have more typically been upheld in relation to non-expressive types of indecent exposure.

What's that, Poop Shooter? You saw her where? Just now? Well, speaking of nude dancing, Sam, Bunga, and I have a Volcano to catch, so that's all the time we have for class today.

_______
"Say, has anybody seen my sweet Gypsy Rose Volcano?"

The above sort of post just drains the fun out of PR for me. Working around animals, this young man's fecal bleeding could be symptomatic of anything from cholera to typhoid fever to avain flu, or any number of other maladies that could have him (as well as possibly others) terminally ill in a matter of days, if not hours.

And yet he sits around waiting for an answer from a poop humor site! Maybe this is evidence for darwinism after all.

I seriously do hope that anyone with a medical problem reading this site will go get the help they need. This is sort of a Dumpster crusade, so forgive my repeating this plea in multiple threads.

The currently-AWOL Logjam wrote, above:

"Poonurse and Dr. Adams! My god! How can you let all these questions go unanswered? Oh, the inhumanity of it, the needless suffering. Is there a doctor in the house? Medic, medic?"

Readers of this site need to understand that neither PooNurse nor Dr. Adams are with us anymore (nor, sadly, does Logjam appear to be, either).

Thus, DON'T DELAY TREATMENT waiting on a reply from this site. I am constrained to quote a post I made earlier today on another thread regarding this same issue:

"I always get into trouble when I wade into these PooNurse threads, but to quote the King James Bible, my "bowels are moved with compassion" when I see these poor sufferers with symptoms of serious medical problems seeking advice online.

"Mind you, it is better to come here than to do nothing at all, but the greatest gift PR can give to most of you is the advice to GO SEE A DOCTOR!!! Other than menstruation, the human body NEVER discharges blood for normal reasons. This is especially true when the blood source is internal, as with many of the cases described above.

"If you don't know what it is, or if it keeps on, you are simply playing Russian Roulette by ignoring it."

Damn! I've been waiting FOREVER for someone to "talk of gin and beer" on this site, so I could explain the etiology (there's that word again, Bunga), of the moniker of one of our great PoopReporters, the Hon. Bunga Din:

You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

I apologize in advance for the length of this post, but it is vital to our understanding of Mrs. Colon's situation. In a case called DeKALB COUNTY v. ORWIG, 196 Ga.App. 255, 395 S.E.2d 824 (1990), the Court of Appeals of Georgia issued the following opinion, which I have heavily abridged:

BIRDSONG, Judge.
At the trial of this case, the jury found appellant DeKalb County negligently failed to discover and remove an obstruction placed by a third party (Georgia Power) in its main sewer line after the obstruction caused 3,000 gallons of raw sewage, including excrement, to back up and flood cross-appellant Orwig's home. The evidence admitted at this trial authorized a finding that despite a county department supervisor's early opinion that the fault was in the county's main line; and despite the abnormal quantity of raw sewage present, so deep in places that a county supervisor declined to enter the house fully to investigate for fear of ruining his boots; and despite plaintiff's expert's insistence that the fault was not in plaintiff's own sewage line, the county insisted to plaintiff that the problem was in her own plumbing system.

Three weeks later the plaintiff's home was again flooded by large amounts of raw sewage. Thereafter, the county inserted a camera into the main sewage line and discovered a metal grounding rod from a nearby power pole had been driven (by Georgia Power) directly into the center of the main sewer line, on plaintiff's property a few feet downstream from the intersection of the main sewer line and her lateral line. The county then removed this obstruction.

The county defended its failure to discover and remove the rod after the first backup by saying that during its emergency crew's investigation of the first incident while the sewage was still backing up into plaintiff's home, the crew and supervisors diligently checked the manhole above plaintiff's property and the manhole below plaintiff's property and, with the use of dye, found the water sewage running freely. However, plaintiff's expert determined and testified that the reason the main sewer line was running freely at that time was that the enormous quantity of obstructed sewage had been sucked up into plaintiff's line, so that naturally there was no sewage blockage to observe on that occasion; and the jury by its verdict apparently determined that the county crew should have considered this fact or possibility and with ordinary care could have discovered the presence of the obstructing metal rod on the occasion of the first sewage backup.

There was evidence that plaintiff spent in excess of $40,000 for the repair and cleaning of her home and furnishings and had expended all her retirement savings and suffered much distress.

We conclude that a county may be liable in a civil action for the maintaining of a nuisance upon the requisite proof of failure to properly maintain public works, without regard to whether such act is incidental to a taking for public purpose or public improvements; that is without the necessity to prove "inverse condemnation."

Damages for mental distress may be recovered without proof of physical injury, where there is evidence of a reckless disregard for the rights of others or wanton disregard of consequences which may be equivalent to an intentional tort.

All of this is a matter of proof for the jury under appropriate instructions. The trial court did not err in submitting the case to the jury on the question of the county's maintenance of an abatable nuisance, but erred in refusing to allow the jury to consider the question of an award of damages for mental pain and suffering or emotional distress and attorney fees. This point of error alone subsumes the entire case; therefore, the general verdict must be reversed and new trial granted.

The trial court erred in failing to charge the jury properly on this fact: that the county, which did not put the metal rod obstruction in its main sewer line, could not be liable for failure to maintain its sewer system under a nuisance theory (or otherwise) unless and until it had notice of the problem, which apparently first announced itself here in the form of the backup of thousands of gallons of raw sewage in Mrs. Orwig's home on the first occasion.

Appellant county contends the trial court erred in disallowing evidence of the county's having sent notice to Mrs. Orwig, after the first sewage backup, that a county ordinance required her to install a backup valve in her sewer system, and that if she had done so, the second sewage backup would not have occurred. Appellant county concedes that the evidence of these facts was not included in its original pretrial pleadings, and concedes the trial court therefore has some discretion in deciding whether to admit such evidence, but neither the record nor appellant's explanation as to why the evidence was not admitted clearly shows what happened here, and why the evidence was excluded. In any case, a new trial will render these questions moot or else resolve them to a level fit for appellate review.

In her cross-appeal, Mrs. Orwig contends it was error for the trial court to instruct the jury to disregard testimony that Mrs. Orwig was compelled to use up her entire retirement savings to repair her house and was unable to restore the house for lack of funds. This evidence, properly presented, is relevant on the issue of mental emotional distress, for which we have held she can recover damages. However, Mrs. Orwig goes further and asserts that the county's subsequent refusal to remove the noxious filth and problems created by that first backup amounted to the maintenance of a nuisance by the county. We understand fully Mrs. Orwig's contentions on this point, and if she can show that DeKalb County had a duty to clear her home of the problem caused by the first sewage backup (which, apparently was caused by Georgia Power), then she may collect for its refusal to clean up. But the lingering problem caused by the first incident is not itself a "nuisance maintained by the county" unless the county had a duty to remove it. It is simply the result of the first sewage backup, and the fact that it was sewage that came from DeKalb's lines does not make it actionable as an abatable nuisance unless DeKalb had an obligation to remove it in the course of its duty to maintain sewer lines. We assume this will be a matter of proof.

That's funny, PS. Perhaps instead of the Decathalon, they could have the Decrapalon, a combination of the Diarrhea Dash, the Long Dump, the Shit-Put, the High Dump, the Turdles, the Dookus Throw, the Pole Vault (males only), the Rectal Javelin Throw, and the Runs.

This could become the crowning event of the Poolympics. Anybody else have any suggestions for added competitions? For example, the "Track Meet" would consist of everyone taking off their underwear and comparing stains. I'm sure others can think of better events, though.

(And, of course, the top medal would be brown, not gold.)

The mind that can see "natural beauty [in] an adult woman ... having a bowel movement" is little different from the one who can see "beauty" in a child being molested, or rape, or torture, or whatever other perversion you want to name. Once "beauty" is redefined as whatever pleases you, or turns you on, regardless of law, custom, morals, health, or common welfare, the word is emptied of meaning.

Mr. King, I will give you credit for this: Unlike those things I just named above, there can be plenty that is funny or entertaining about a grown woman taking a dump, but to say there is anything "beautiful" about is a serious trivialization of the concept of "beauty."

The Scotch-tapeworm syndrome is not as well documented in the medical literature. You refer to an espisode in the 1970's; I think that the Duct-tapeworm is now a lot more common. It typically comes about after the victim's Significant Other gets tired of listening to him/her run off at the mouth. Problems with tape in the feces usually can be avoided by keeping the tape over your mouth where it belonged.

No, thank goodness. That was a close call. You know, sometimes us more mature guys draw the bootie in unexpected (and sometimes unwanted) ways. I got an email from a lady on this site this afternoon asking me, in all seriousness, if my son's name was REALLY "Little Dumpster." I started to write her back and say, well that's what we call him, because we're really not sure who his mother is.

Dear Every Fucking Running Orifice King: You may find it more of a turn-on for guys' poops to be romanced, and those of girls to be made gross, but either way, you are a person in deep, deep need of help. Yes, a lot of hard-working, decent people here at PR have "built a big, well-trafficked website with a lot of interesting and funny content," as you rightly note, but it has been because of tireless efforts to get rid of sick, copraphiliac tastes such as yours!

And to accuse PR of "a thought-police mentality in the best tradition of the Christian right" not only pays the Christian right a compliment, coming from a perverted anus-muncher such as yourself, but also further demonstrates your absolute, ass-inine ignorance of the guiding forces on this site, most of whom have very little use for traditional Christianity, although they do demonstrate its tolerance in a way incomprehensible to your infecalemiated cranium.

But, big boobie, your biggest mistake was to take issue with the person you ignorantly refer to "A-Blaster," accusing her of "put[ting] artificial limits on this potential [for your getting your tiny weenie aroused by scenes of women pooping]." In fact, Ms. Blaster, one of the key moderators of this site, was the one who made the (admittedly questionable) decision to let your dreck appear in these pages to start with, so you could show yourself as and for the asshole (and asshole-lover) that you are. She is one of the smartest, most tolerant people who ever graced the pages of the Internet, and it sullies her name, as well as the good reputation of this site, to be mentioned in the same paragraph with a moronic, perverted, cretin such as your stinking self.

Mr. King, would you just go take Every Fuckin' Rong Opinion of yours [off this site, and] may we never be plagued with your bubonic bloviations again!!

[Brackets indicate site-inappropriate flaming material subsequently and voluntarily deleted by Dumpster.]

Little Dumpster and I have farting and burping contests. This is one advantage to living in a house with no women. He has figured out a way to get his diaphragm under his burps, so that, even at age 10, they sound like those of Big Butch McCavity:

(uuuuUUUUUUURRRRRRRREEEEEEEKKKKAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH)

I still have a slight edge on farts, as far as smell, but LD is rapidly pulling ahead in the noise category:

(TTTTPPPPPPPPWWWWWWWWWFFFFFFFFpopopofuuuuuuuu)

Come visit us anytime! We'll have a big pot of baked beans ready!

Mott, there are only three rules middle aged-men have to remember:

1. Never waste an erection.

2. It isn't always just gas.

3. I, uh, can't remember what the third one is....

I am still nauseated every time I run across this thread. I hope all these wierdos have found something to keep them from coming back here!

TBW's forum post referred to above is one of the most interesting threads I've read in a long time, with lots of good comments by some very smart people.

I like posting forum links. I wish more people would visit the forums. It is sort of like wandering around in the Poop Library of Congress!

Q: Dumpster, what kind of underwear do you wear, boxers or briefs?

A: Depends.

If God had wanted us to drink our urine, he would've made our dicks reach up to our mouths.

Just because a few of us have that anatomical ability, though, is no reason to draw any big generalizations. Pee belongs down the house pipes; not those of the house people.

She went back to her husband last night, thank the Lord. As my dear departed grandfather used to say, "don't put your pecker in the payroll." Or as Clarence Thomas learned from Anita Hill, the Eleventh Commandment is "Thou shalt not show thy rod to thy staff."

Down here in Stewsburg, we always alternated between the corncobs and the Sears Catalog, depending on what time of year it was.

'Course, we've had to substitute other catalogs for the old Sears, now that it's out of print, and somehow the Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood catalogs make a guy need to spend a bit more time in the shithouse, y'know? Got not one log to tend to, but two!

GGG writes that "overuse of the "lame" tag might eventually lead to some complexes and require therapy that is not covered in the HMO package. Some of us have delicate sensibilities."

This is an imPOOrtant point. As a sometime professor of Constitutional Law, I am aware of the "chilling" effect that even potential censorship has on speech. Not speaking for Pope Dave, but I don't think the purpose of quality moderation is to say, "I don't agree with your post," "your post is not funny to me," "I don't understand your post," or even, "your &*^%ing post is offensive to me!"

Rather, I hope we are trying to apply a "contemPOOrary community standard." Is this post representative of the sort of thing that PR stands for? Does it compliment or contradict our mission in some significant way? Or is its primary purpose to advance an agenda unrelated to the movement of the bowels?

It is sort of like the U.S. Supreme Court's best definition of pornography (in the words of the late Justice Potter Stewart): "I know it when I see it."

Damn: "Potter Stewart." With a name like that, if there were ever a Supreme Court of Poopreportia, he would HAVE to be the Chief!

Always good to hear a story from the beloved AB2K. I agree with TSV, you spend too much time moderating and not enough exercising your gift for creative writing.

The one thing all inquiring minds want to know, though, is what CAUSED the fall of the iron ass? You must have eaten at the Roadkill Cafe or something.

If this is the wise janitor, I sure don't want to meet the dumb one.

Wow. This is a thread I have never read before, but I feel like a Moslem on his first trip to Mecca. The people here are describing my life for the past 2+ years. I have been to, and suffered much at the hands of, any number of physicians, including several GI specialists, about my chronic diarrhea. 'Butt' (as we PoopReporters would say), after colonoscopies, endoscopies, MRI's, CAT scans, and I can't recall what-all else, the "best" diagnosis I can get is Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).

(May I interject that, as much as I love PR for its unparalleled humor, I might not have had the interest in this subject that I do were it not for this malady, and the resultant "things that go Dump in the night.")

My own research, however, indicates that IBS, like such other contemporary maladies as Attention Deficit Disorder (what were you saying just now??) and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (I'm too tired to talk about it), is typically not an "organic" problem, wherein some specific cause, such as a kinky colon, an overactive gland, or whatever, can be blamed. Rather, it is a so-called "functional" disorder, which I have figured out is the doctors' way of saying they don't know what the hell is wrong. Of course, they have tried to give me all sorts of fancy stuff for it, such as Celebrex and Vioxx (thank God I had enough walking-around-sense not to take any of THAT crap!), but nothing they do does a damn thing to help.

By contrast, Imodium works. It stops the runs, usually with one pill; sometimes it takes two, but By God IT WORKS!! Yeah, I have once or twice packed myself up a bit for a day or so, but after six or seven episodes of butt pee where your sphincter is bleeding from so much wiping (not to mention your co-workers wondering why you are running off to the can every half hour), this is a welcome relief.

Am I addicted to it? This is sort of like asking the old man whether he wears briefs or boxers, and he answers, "Depends." If I don't take Imodium, I have the squirts; if I do, I 'doo' (get it??). I dunno. Maybe if Hermione would marry me, or if the liberals on the law faculty would leave me alone, or if the Socialist wing of my beloved Republican Party would quit fucking up the social compact with so-called "tort reform," or if I would win the lottery, or if Jesus would come again, I would be at peace. In the meantime, Imodium gives me what the Mecca pilgrimage promises our towel-headed bretheren: A ticket to Paradise.

What do YOU think? Or, more aptly, what do you DOO?

Bunga, I am glad to see you have something on your mind besides sex today. Your good friend Dumpster has been failing miserably at lining up the bootie for you. Out of loyalty to the site, though, I will keep trying. Just remember, though, sometimes sexual frustration produces the greatest literary output. I hate it that Emily Dickinson evidently learned to masturbate in 1862; otherwise, think what more great poetry of hers the world might have been treated to!

Once I was flying from New York to Atlanta and, since the client was paying, I was able to go first class. Believe it or not, I wound up sitting next to Reba McEntire. Yes, THAT Reba McEntire! She was the same classy gal that she appears to be in public, but I didn't want to act like some stupid, starstruck fan and talk her ear off the whole time. So, after a few pleasantries, I pretended to read my book for the first 30 minutes or so of the flight, until, "suddenly and without warning," as we lawyers say, someone in the immediate vicinity let one of the deadliest silent-but-deadlies I have ever smelt!

It stank like rotting skunk carcass or something. It was so bad it totally could not be ignored. With all the suaveity and polish that Dumpster is famous for, I looked over at Reba and said, "it wasn't me!" She laughed, punched me in the arm, and said, loud enough for the whole first-class cabin to hear, "well, sweetie, whoever did that, they need to stuff his butt in the FUEL tank!!"

Everybody in first class laughed except for one old guy and his trophy wife just across the aisle. I wonder which one of them did it?

Anyway, that broke the ice. Reba and I both ordered a drink, and for the rest of the flight I proceeded to act like some stupid, starstruck fan and talk her ear off the whole time.

Crack, I think KOC embodies both concepts equally.

Along with "A Cask of Amonturdiatto," "The Pit and the Pendulous," and "Quoth the Raven: 'On the floor!'"??

Good luck, Poo!

Sam, as my good friend Will Shakespeare said, "methinks the man doth protest overmuch." I am, in British parlance, maybe half a stone lighter than you, but I have never cracked a pot (although I've often been called a crackpot). Are you CERTAIN this is not due to the force and violence of your turdulary trespasses?

"Too much torque," indeed. Sam is just a commode abuser is all there is to it. That's why he's so curious about where the bodies are buried. I smell a scandal here. Sam is probably the Ted Bundy of the commode world. If the feds would start looking into it, they would probably find that half of the unexplained commode deaths in recent years are related to Austin, TX.

Yeah, Sam--we've got your number now! (It is 2, BTW.) Posing as a Man of the Cloth, but in reality an ass-murderer of crappers. My friend, you have given yourself away, like the Unabomber, by your need to publish your exploits!

Yeah, but why such a bulge? What is it so barely restraining? If you peeled off that Spandex, she probably looks like she's got Buckwheat in a headlock.

The bathroom is like the graveyard: When ya gotta go, ya gotta go. I teach in a university, and we have "faculty rest rooms" for men and women. What's really fun is to be seated in a stall, and a colleague comes in to use the one next to you, and you have to figure out who it is by the sounds and the smells. One guy on our faculty has had his gall bladder out, and you never have to wonder who it is when HE comes in! (Can you say "Hiroshima"?)

What is really annoying is when some student comes in and craps up the place. At least, I assume it is a student....

I can. I worked backstage at The Grand Opera House in Stewsburg, in the late '70's. Somebody decided to stage a big-screen showing of "The Wizard of Oz" in conjuntion with Halloween. It was a big deal--children under 10 admitted free in costume; ushers giving out candy to them on the way in (BIG mistake!), etc.

I used to think that you had to be a Baby Boomer, and have grown up seeing this movie on TV on Easter Weekend, to be as scared of the Wicked Witch scenes as I was (back then all we had was a black & white TV)--I used to run screaming and hide under my bed when she was writing "DOROTHY GO HOME" in the sky.

But when this scene hit the big screen, the shit hit the fan. Little children (mostly boys--I've never figured out why Oz scares boys more than girls) were crying and crapping and puking. The stench soon filled the theatre. We had to stop, and the manager had to come out and explain that this was just a movie.

Anyway, I had to stay late and help clean up the shit and vomit. Worst Halloween I ever had. BUT--I had objected to this idea to start with, and this started me on my long, arduous climb to Chairman of the Board. Regrettably, those stories do not come into this forum).

P.S.--I showed "Wizard of Oz" to Little Dumpster in complete black & white back when he was 6--he has been in therapy ever since.

KOC, several months ago I was driving from my home town of Stewsburg up to Slippery Root to see my colonically challenged girlfriend, Miss Hermione. We were theoretically going to a concert of the Slippery Root Symphony Orchestra, although Hermione, in her own recondite way, had hinted at certain, ah, carnal delights to follow if I were a really good boy.

So, naturally, I put on nice clean everything for the occasion (one would not want an impassioned Hermione tearing off one's pants to discover a ragged pair of y-fronts one had owned since college, now would one?). However, with my usual lack of forethought in such matters, I had eaten for lunch the day before two chili dogs with extra grease and a large chocolate malted from a place in Stewsburg called (I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP!!)--"Johnny-V's." (Why would anyone name a fast food joint "Johnny-V's"? And why, O why, would anyone with any respect for their Large Bowel eat there?)

To cut to the chase, halfway to Slippery Root, I thought I would relieve the mounting pressure on my burning bung by releasing a bit of methane in the privacy of my vehicle. To my horror, however, BOTH chili dogs AND the chocolate malted came cascading out into my pants, almost exactly as chewed up and swallowed by me, although by this time mixed with the vilest of Shitric Acids.

O, Ye Gods of Shit? What am I to do? My pants are a brown puddle; my car smells like the Stewsburg Sewage Treatment Plant #2, I have NO clean clothes, I am miles from home, and a hot, sexually frustrated woman awaits me!

My prayer was answered by Sam Walton, who thoughtfully provided a store on the outskirts of Slippery Root. I found an old sweater in the back seat and sort of casually wrapped it around my waist like the cool dudes do, and went in Wal-Mart and bought three things: A pair of pants; a pack of boxers; and a painfully large box of Imodium.

There was one male cashier on duty, so I waited to go through his line. As he scanned my purchases, he sniffed and said, "hey, dude; the men's room is back that way."

The rest of the story has a happy ending. Sam Walton carted off my ruined garments at no extra charge; I persuaded Hermione to take her car to the concert ("I'm almost out of gas..."); the boxers (plus the Imodium) enabled Hermione to feel the pink snake and not the brown one during the concert; and I, later that night, for one or two brief, shining moments, made her almost forget that she was a lady!

Sometimes a guy's gotta think on his seat, as well as his feet!

Problem is, we are dealing with two parallel universes here: Setters and Pointers. I sympathize with you gals who have to sit every time (I did know a girl in second grade who could pee standing up, but that's another story).

The problem is when it is Time To Toss The Tootise Roll. Then, all men (and women) are created equal. The lawyer in me first asks, "how do you define a "public" toilet?" I mean, there's public and there's public. The Faculty Men's Room at my law school is, I guess, "public," but I would be a lot more comfortable crapping there than at the bus station only a few blocks away.

Maybe we should assign (as the ex-Mrs. Dumpster did) a "ca-ca chart" to the types of public facilities on which we are willing to put the Moon over the Mountain:

1--Unattended gas stations (should be banned by the EPA).
2--The bus station; the Waffle House.
3--Other restaurant/transportation facilities (airports; McDonald's; etc.)
4--"Communal" facilities (churches; hospitals; government buildings; etc.)
5--Facilities that are "public" in name only (professional offices; private clubs, etc.).

These are like the Richter Scale of Nastiness--each is an order of magnitude filthier than the one above it. So, let's first agree on what the definition of "is" is, and go from there. Personally, I could not drop trou in anything less than a 4. Given the choice, I'd head for the woods.

I am still too new here to be qualified to express an opinion on who's the best, but I want to thank all of you who have so warmly encouraged me to come out of the water closet with stories about my shitty life, especially The Big Wiper, who was the first to respond to my first (unverified) post under "The Great CajunDome Flushout"; Bunga Din, who was willing to brave the Wrath of God on my behalf (see the posts under "Pooping in Front of Your Significant Other"); AB2K, who I had no idea was so busy but who also has been most encouraging; and Logjam and Shit Volcano, with whom I think I am slowly, inexorably falling in love (don't worry, though; my heart still belongs to Hermione even if you guys get something further to the southwest). Most of all, that Pope of Poop, St. Dave, who has had to take up a LOT of time with me over emails lately explaining the very basic workings of this site to one who is clearly not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Let's face it, folks--people who like to shit and tell are healthy people, in spirit if not always in body. Our shared sense of humor and of the absurd transcends all the dreary differences of race, gender, religion, politics, etc. (although I will have to note, based on "The Crap at the Capitol," that the excellent storyteller SamDamnit's politics appear to be as mixed up as his insides--C. Everett Poop for President!!).

I've been in enough failed relationships myself to know that the number one sign of trouble is when the laughter stops. Since I discovered this site just a few days ago, I think I've laughed more and harder than I did in all of 2005. Thank you again for the great gift of humor and for all your hard work, and may all of you have a really, really crappy new year!!

Your sister is on a bean-only diet and she doesn't appreciate this site? What's wrong with THAT picture?

My newest secretary has learned that she isn't part of the office "family" until she can lay a butt cable in the office loo without shame.

Pretty disgusting-looking guy, IMHO.

Not only that, Daph, but you mention wearing a dress once in the story, too.

I think some people just don't read that closely, which is a shame, especially with a great story like this.

(BTW, I nominated this for PoopReport of the Year 2007. It clearly deserves it.)

Never.

Could be....

She is really just covering up the fact that she met me under the grandstands for a naughty tryst.

Signed Dumpster, aka "Seymour Butts"

It is actually his Inner Hillary trying to claw her way out.

Well, Mr. Dave, I had hoped to be around for the big moment when you turned 10000, but Hermione is waiting, and I've gotta go!

Congratulations in advance.

BTW, Dumpster just became one of the top ten posters on the forums. What is this world coming to?

M.P.T., is English your fourth or your fifth language, or are you just using Babelfish to translate this from the original Sanskrit?

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

Well, being that I'm a Monkey-Spooge Gargling Lawyer, I guess I'd better just lay off of PoopReport and go chase a few more ambulances and bankrupt a few more small businesses.

Daph, I am really curious about "Kiki Camerena." Do tell....

Everett, like Newt Gingrich, has been co-opted by The Establishment.

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

I am wondering what is going on in terms of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?

Never mind--that would all be wasted on Everett, anyway. I am torn between wanting to be just as clever/insightful as Logjam, and just as pithy/acerbic as Everett.

Nevertheless, as a single father who has not had to go through the experience of explaining "nuclear winter" to his son (as did many friends a few years older than me), I do feel some debt to the Gipper.

Let's not get political, folks!

Points be damned; whatever AB2K says, you do. If you dare defy her authority, or show any disrespect, she has the power to send 770 volts over the Internet directly into your keyboard.

_______
Send all your money to Bilgepump, or to Dave!

!

Okay, let us get this straight. In public. Once and for all: DAPHNE, I TOTALLY RESPECT YOU!!

We all have our own criteria for Quality Moderation, but to me, it involves both (1) substance, and (2) style:

(1) Does the comment address itself to the subject under discussion, or does it shift the topic in a reasonable direction? Moreover, does it add something meaningful to the discussion?

(2) Is the comment respectful of other PoopReporters, and of the site? One can disagree with somebody without being nasty about it, as your own posts clearly illustrate.

Well, it is WAY past my bedtime. I don't know why I am up this late!

PS, if I put some super glue into Hermione's pu

***POST TERMINATED BY PR MODERATOR***

This post (made over a month after my last post, just above) will put me at 1400 userpoints. In just over three months.

Somebody help me, PLEASE!!

I apologize. Didn't mean to offend.

As to your two self-derogatory comments, remember I have seen your wedding pictures, so I beg to differ.

And who the fuck helps Dave "edit" PR, if not you?

Everybody--notice that she DID NOT respond to the principal question? Run for Congress, babe--you've got what it takes to dodge the issues!

This post will "get" ("earn" being too strong a word) Dumpster his 1000th userpoint. Thanks to one and all for putting up with my PR obsession these last several months.

(Is there a 12-step program for people addicted to PR?)

I've said this elsewhere, but when I applied for MENSA, they decided to create a sister organization for people like me: DENSA.

It is hard to get kicked out of that.

ATTENTION PEOPLE:

This is a poop HUMOR site; NOT a medical help site! Even Poonurse (may she rest in peace) was intended to be somewhat tongue-in-cheek (maybe not the best analogy here, but...):

You poor, benighted masses: Blood in your stools is NEVER a trivial matter. PR cannot help you!

The only upside to coming here is, if you continue to look to this site for medical advice, you may die, but at least you will die laughing!

Sorry, but in all seriousness, it is pretty stupid to waste your time posting your gross medical details here. There is no one to help you. Poonurse has left the building. ET, phone home, or at least call 9-1-1.

Ty, thanks to your challenge, I came up with 9 other inane one- or two-liners and MADE IT TO THE TOP!!

Forgive me; I just wanted to see my name in lights up there with yours. Now I can go to bed.