What? The story?

Or that I would concede a point? :)

(*longsuffering, head-shaking sigh*)(Thank you, Deja Poo, btw.)

If I may?

While I feel no overt obligation to defend any action of mine to anyone beyond the authorities to whom I am directly responsible, which does NOT include non-verified, unregistered, judgemental strangers on the internet, I do feel compelled to mention a couple of facts in my own defense.

First of all, GottaMan knows all about Poop Report AND Dumpster. Period. No secrets there.

Yes, my relationship with Dumpster is quite unorthodox, and different from your garden-variety internet buddy; I AM in love, and I use that word purposely: I consider him my big brother, my confidant, etc... what's not to love? If "Tisk Tisk" doesn't recognize that form of "in love", I can't help that.

Furthermore, I'll have it known that Dumpster is my husband's best ally; no one has encouraged me to understand and get along with my husband more than he has. If he wasn't such a good lawyer, he might make a good living as a MFC counselor.

Let me conclude by saying that if I thought I stood to suffer any social distress from the revelation of this story, I wouldn't have posted it.

I don't know. I think my "mom" gene might have kicked in and I would have offered to go buy her a pair of shorts or something.

Karma, and all that.

My idea would be to do away with communal bathrooms altogether.

Each classroom could have a one-toilet, one-sink bathroom in it. The exhaust fan could be loud enough to cover any noise, and the door could be sturdy enough to keep the fan noise from disrupting class.

Those students who were too shameful to go during class could use their passing time (hah!) between classes to use the bathroom.

I would like a toilet in the shape of

• a Dell computer
• a KFC bucket
• a particular coworker's face
• Rachael Ray Cookware
...

Hey. I might have just thought up a business venture!

UPDATE!:

This evening, close to closing time, I went into the bathrooms to see if they needed attention (delegate, delegate!). I had to do a double take when I opened the handicrapper.

The toilet had been MOVED! Those rusted-over floor-bolts I told you about in the story? Obviously Mike didn't call the plumber like he was supposed to. Evidently those bolts rusted all the way through.

My theory is: someone tried to stand up, pulled on the handrail for support, and the bolts gave way. The entire commode shifted off it's base and turned 6 inches toward the wall! I've never seen anything like it!

You could SEE the hole in the floor underneath. Unbelieveable. And did someone ADMIT to doing it? Of course not.

The fun part was, it was Mike on duty again, tonight. Gleefully, I paged him: "Mike to the restroom, please. Mike to the restroom.", which caused no little hilarity amongst the young fry working tonight.

Already reluctant to accompany me into the Ladies' Room, his reaction to the displaced depository was even more satisfying. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?" I actually clapped my hands and did a little happy dance.

The absolute cherry-on-top to my evening was watching Mike put butt-gaskets over his hands, hunch over that toilet, and do the plumber-waddle, placing the throne back over the hole.

I had to hold onto the door to keep from falling down, laughing. Better than any raise (which I got, by the way!).

You have to remember that THOUSANDS of comments were already in place BEFORE there was ever any moderation.

The Lame/Great tags are fairly new, and at least 2 mods have to peruse the exact same thread and either "Lame" or "Great" the exact same comment for it to get the tag one way or the other.

There are lots of threads that have yet to BE moderated, simply because there are so many of them. The newer ones get "Lame/Great" tags quicker, since everyone cruises those first.

As the older, unmoderated threads are bumped by people browsing through and making comments, the older comments at the tops of those threads will begin to be moderated. But ALWAYS, a SECOND mod has to happen along and might or might not tag any given comment.

Thank you for reading, and I will now STFU.

#3. I prefer the term "dirt-pickle".
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Pug-Fug. It happens.

OR! A therapeutic product to assist people who ALREADY smear themselves with poop... to stop!

A poop methadone.

C Everett Poop (334) -- 11.17.2006
It is a true statement that anyone who flames my post gets an automatic "great comment".

Nope. Just the super flame-ish ones. Just the very alienating ones. Just the overtly mean ones. Just the extremely intolerant ones.

I think you can have strong (in your case IRON) opinions and yet still state them firmly but politely. See? I just did it.

(*Takes cover*)

Bilgepump (264) -- 10.21.2006
"I voted other....I'd pet the cat vigorously..."

Only to have that cat curl up on your pillow.

Healthy 1, while I appreciate your attitudes toward child-rearing, that Biblical passage means the OPPOSITE of what you intend. A lot of people get that backwards.

It's not advocating spoiling a kid as a good thing. It means that a child who is never disciplined, who is allowed to run rampant will end up spoiled.

Also, I work around small children, and we have a couple moms who boast that their babies were "potty trained" at 9 months, 16 months, whatever... they grab the kid and run and get them there in time.

The BABIES aren't potty trained. The moms are.

Years ago, my mom routinely changed into and out of her uniform in a nurses' locker room at her hospital.

For several days, every time she bent down from the seat to tie her shoes, there was this awful stench, and it kept getting worse. She thought, "I have GOT to go to the gynecologist! Something's not RIGHT down there!"

Turns out someone had accidentally left a tuna sandwich in a lower locker while they were on vacation.

Poop Report IS my therapy.

The Petrarchan conceit, used in love poetry, exploits a particular set of images for comparisons. For instance, the lover is a ship on a stormy sea, and his mistress "a cloud of dark disdain"; or else the lady is a sun whose beauty and virtue shine on her lover from a distance.

That sort of thing; basically an extended metaphor.

Damn, Di. Thanks! Can I come work for you? :)

And you gave me a great idea. When my review comes up in November, if I don't get my full 3% raise, I'm going to bring up the poop incident! Maybe if I threaten to call... whomever it is you call to report hazardous working conditions, they'll think again about how VALUABE I am (*grins*).

Do stale puppies not poop?

I did use the word "respectfully" to you, Turd.

A whole herd of them?

Oh, and one more thing, Turd. Are you any less of a toad than I for maligning those who actually do suffer from OCD?

I wash my hands of this.

But then, you wouldn't know about that, would you?
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I've come to realize that signatures are irritating.

Somebody send Dufya some coleslaw!

Uh, just because not everyone voted that they eat poop themselves, that does not mean that the children who DO make that mistake should be exterminated. I don't think you were "lamed" because of being disgusted; it's disgusting. There's no doubt about that, but to "seriously" (as you put it) suggest KILLING CHILDREN is wrong.

You don't have to have 'em. You don't have to like 'em, but it's wrong to suggest murdering them. Period.

Phil, I believe the correct phrases would be "to which you would be able to lay claim" and "poor grammar". Kettle.

And, even though it's off-topic, I'd like to respond to Ibly Piblo. Yesterday, I was thinking precisely about Ibly Piblo's point (however un-grammatical). We do not have an elevator in our building, and all of the clerical-ish things to which we must attend occur in the office (naturally), which is upstairs.

As I lugged 4 loaded cash tills up the double set of stairs, I reflected that an elevator sure would be nice, and then it occurred to me that a wheelchair-bound person could NOT do my job, as the secured counting room, the safe, and the administrative computers are ALL upstairs, with that ONE staircase the only access.

We also have to go up and down ladders all day, storing stock, and getting it down for customers if there's no more reachable. The cashiers have to maneuver both small and large items both out of and back into customers' carts. Receiving folks have to handle those same items.

Even the office person/secretary has to do inventory control, which means climbing and counting and tagging. There's not one job in our building that a wheelchair-bound person could accomplish.

There are A LOT of jobs like that. My only suggestion to you is to enroll in school and learn to do something marketable to the office world.
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Fecal Matters.

Isn't a colonist someone who inhabits a colony?

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Fecal Matters.

When I was a kid, I had a book of kids' "magic" tricks ("Amaze your friends!"). In that book was a "trick" that called for a Kleenex tissue. It said if you take a Kleenex and twist it up very tight, and ask a friend to grasp it in both fists and try to tear in in half, they will NOT be able to do it. The trick was that somehow the "magician" dips their fingers in water, takes the Kleenex, and having wet the middle, it then tears easily.

But the book was right; at least, as a kid, I could NOT tear a Kleenex ropelet in half. So it's totally feasible that you could make a pretty reasonable rope out of T.P. The penitentiaries will have to start putting in those little square-dispenser thingys.
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Fecal Matters.

KOC, "Thank you on behalf of a grateful nation."

Thank you, Dufya.

Rotten--

I'm sorry. Did you just flame someone for their personal beliefs? I think you did. Did the author attack those with different beliefs? He did not.

I think you owe Chuckie an apology.

Ooh! Ooh! I was HOPING to be able to bring this up! Yay! Thanks, DF.

I work at a store where thousands of engaged couples register for gifts. In April, this couple came in and told me they wanted to register for their wedding. They...were... different-looking. At least, different for HERE.

Doc Martens, chains linked from here to God-knows-where, wide gaping piercings, a LOT of black make-up, black fingernails, leather collar (I kid you not), etc...

I first said, "Congratulations!", then sat down with them and gave them the paperwork, and began opening the program on the PC. I asked, "So, when's the big day?"

With alacrity, they BOTH replied, "Six-Six-Six!", obviously looking for a reaction. I mean, they could have said "June 6th"; I would have assumed it was this year.

I was s-m-o-o-t-h, though. I just said, "Oh, how nice! A traditional June wedding! June 6th it is!" They were a little disappointed.
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Santa Caca!

*scrunchity scrunch scrunch scrunch* "Hey! close the door, willya!"
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Santa Caca!

Actually, I have a friend in QC, and one of the quirks he's gotten from years in the biz is that he swears mayonnaise is shelf-stable. He says it doesn't need refrigeration at all. His sits in the pantry. Has for years.

My hubby's first job was at Burger King, and they taught them to never, ever, nuke a burger that already had mayo on it. He took this to mean (being 16) that mayo that had been warmed would kill you.

For years, I've made a hot artichoke dip. It contains (in addition to artichokes): parmesan, cream cheese, green chiles, and....a CUP of mayonnaise. You mix it all up and put it in a little crock pot and serve it with hard toast.

The hubby, after eating it for YEARS, once happened to see me plopping in the mayo. He *FA-REAKED OUT*! He was spluttering and spewing and whatnot, jabbering about how "You can't HEAT mayonnaise! You can DIE!"

I asked, "How many times have you eaten this?" Realization dawned on him, and I just laughed and went back to chopping artichoke.

Mission Accomplished! (Long post, sorry.)

I posted 10 flyers around the mall: I made the entire circuit of "anchor" stores. I posted the flyers in the handicrappers, since I had my son with me, in his stroller, and chattering to him was a good cover. I'm trying to be open about pooping, but posting bills is another story. I desired anonymity for that.

I tried to poop at Sears, but alas, only gas! By the way, I bought my roll of tape there, symbolically. I hate Sears.

Next up was JCPenney, where I was able to celebrate poop freedom!

Then came Nordstrom, where I expected to have the crap intimidated out of me, but I got in and got out with no problem.

Around the bend was RobinsonsMay, where they were having a HUGE sale, so the bathroom was PACKED! That was a bit of a challenge, but I posted the flyer and exited smoothly.

Macy's was the last store; having had lunch between Penney's and Macy's, there I was able to contribute another offering to Poop For Peace. By the way, we had eaten at a Chinese place called, appropriately enough, The Volcano Tea House. I'd never seen it before; we were meant to eat there on this day! It produced squiggles.

The final lap took us back to Sears, where I popped in to check on my flyer. I hadn't been alone in ANY of the bathrooms, so I wasn't able to take any pictures. I wasn't ready to explain why I was taking pictures in the potty.

Sadly, my Sears flyer was gone. I still had 3 more, though, and providentially, there were 3 stalls! This time, I pulled back the top flap of the next butt gasket, inserted a flyer, and tucked the gasket back up into the box for a lucky patron to discover!

I had added to the bottom, after "Poop Report.com", "Tell them GottaGoGirl sent you!" I'm curious to see if anyone checks in, here. This was as much fun as toilet papering and ding-dong-ditch back in the day!

Yay for Poop!

Even simpler than IBS, I think there may be a connection between young adults suddenly experiencing this problem and the fact that they've moved farther out of the sphere of influence of their parents. Eating more junk, now that they're having to do their own shopping, maybe? It's a theory.

But this is what cracked me up:

"Demonic possession is frequently accompanied by sulfurous and extremely odiferous anal discharges that often are not accompanied by any noticeable solid discharge or liguid effluent."

KOC-- I bet that damn onion-thing they serve will cause a report in itself!

I checked 10-30 minutes, since while I am fairly shameless about pooping itself, I have a closet PR habit. As I've mentioned, my hubby does not approve of such shenanigans. So when he or one of the kids comes in the room I have to

Foolishly, I was chewing a Hershey's Kiss when I clicked onto these photos.

Wow! What store is it that offers wipeys? Great idea! Re: Purell, I THOUGHT I read somewhere that it's not as magical as some people seem to think. The article I read said that it took up to 30 minutes for the stuff to kill anything. If you say, change a poopy diaper at the park, then use hand sanitizer, then go ahead and dig into the Subway you picked up on the way over, you're eating with poopy hands. It works much better as a DEFENSE against GETTING germy when applied when your hands are CLEAN. Yet I've seen any number of mommies ply their yard-apes' grubby paws with the stuff, then hand 'em their pb&j. In the absence of running water, I usually use a baby wipe, then squirt with drinking water (ubiquitous), and finish with another wipey. Purell is a false sense of cleanliness.

When I was 4 or 5, I used to secretly feed my Crayons my grandma's poodle, Charlie. His poop would have all these lovely streaks in a rainbow of colors, and it was great fun to hear my grandmother *FREAK* when she took the dog out to "do his business". Heh, heh. :)

The Dumpster (2648) -- wrote: "Yeah, but look who is about to crawl on top of me!"

I beg your pardon, sir! That would be unladylike!

Oh! Is THAT where I lost my big foam finger?!?

You're right, FP! All California needs is a really big earthquake, and we'll be our own continent.

(*Sobs*) How many gulls had to give their lives? (*Sniffle*)