Hugh, Motherload does have 'bona fides'. So does Snapper. So did Poonurse. That's why they were and are our Poopreport nurses. I am not a nurse, but I have been educated in anatomy, taxonomy, biology, advanced biology, anthropological physiology, Latin, medical illustration and some medical transcription, much of it on a college level. Of course, all of that pales in comparison to acutally being a mom who has a kid who had extremely bad digestive trouble as a toddler.
I don't think Logjam meant that "Daphne's the end all of information", because I'm not. Maybe he just meant "Maybe a mom might have some insight in this area." One of the reasons that I asked Glutenmom if this child was her oldest is because I wanted to know how long she'd been a mom. If this is her first child, seeing poop that big might have freaked her out. It's a natural reaction to worry.
As to userpoints, if TBox, Leandra, or whomever wants to come on PR and yak amongst themselves, that's a good thing. This is what PR's for. I don't know why it would bother some that we have people who enjoy posting and derailing the shit out of threads, because you can still post on topic if you want. When I visit the site in the evening and see that we have new threads with over sixty comments, I smile. That means that the Poopers had a fun day ragging on each other and the site got more hits. It also means we have comraderie and friendship happening. Good, good, good. I like that comraderie.
Facultypoe, just because you don't like Stephanie Meyer and someone else does doesn't mean that person isn't listening to reason. It just means that the other person doesn't agree with you and has a different taste.
I agree with afanofpoop that there are times first-time story posters have been torn up. However, I completely disagree that our site is full of regulars who are jealous of other's stories and are, as afanofpoop called Chief Thunderbutt, average writers.
I think the story had potential that wasn't reached but still enjoyed it. Although it's an unusual submission, it's not hard to understand what the writer's trying to say. The concept that one's poop can become an antithesis to oneself, complete with teeth, is funny. But, to suggest our levels of intelligence were being challenged because some of those who commented didn't like it, afanofpoop? Please.
Let me give you some advice. If you're going to suggest that others' intelligence levels are of question, then don't do so by posting comments riddled with sentence fragments and incorrect and/or absence of proper punctuation; it undermines your attempt to admonish others with any authority. It's akin to addressing city hall in hopes of having a bill passed while wearing dirty jeans and a Beavis and Butthead sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Frankly, any points you might have made with me were lost in questionably-written, whiny vitriol.
P.S. Find a dictionary and read the definition of the word "bias". Then re-read your posts.
P.P.S. Welcome to PR, Shark. I hope you stick around, too.
The mortar came through his forehead.
Poor Martin was so close to dead.
But luck had a say
On that fateful day,
And he lost one of two eyes instead.
The years flew by and he got married.
He raised kids, his tough genes they carried.
But relation meant naught,
To avoid being caught,
He allowed the sad truth to be buried.
See, Martin coughed like he had croup,
He hacked up this awful black goop!
A tickle would follow,
In his throat, and he'd swallow.
He ate his glass eyes with his soup.
The first time it wasn't so bad.
His wife wasn't nearly as mad.
But the second eye lost
Was dear, and it cost
His trust as a dear old grandad.
He blamed it on toddler... "what's this?"
That his second glass eye was amiss.
So gramma went postal
And tracked the boy coastal
From the kitchen to the potty to piss.
The guilt caused a karmic display.
That bothers Martin to this day.
How to keep his wife quiet
Without causing a riot
Is a problem he faces today.
His glass eye is lodged in his gut.
The third time he's been in this rut,
No excuse will prevent
The torrent she'll vent
When she realizes she's been the butt
Of a joke, of a ruse, of a lie,
That Martin's been hiding his eye
In his ass, to lay blame
On a child with his name
To avoid an excuse on the fly.
"Fuck it! You hag, I confess!'
"I ate the damned thing, it's a mess....'
She'll kick his poor ass
While thinking of glass
And wiping her hands on her dress.
It'll end in a court of the law.
She'll stand there in shock and dropped jaw.
To hear his confession,
"It's been a progression,'
"My intestines resemble cole slaw!"
The court will adjourn to come find,
Poor Martin's quite out of his mind.
Cuz' you can't eat your eye
And then try to lie
When you shit it out of your behind.
Poopreport.com is not necessarily dedicated to people pooping. It is dedicated to the intellectual appreciation of poop humor. It's the concept that everyone poops, from world leaders to rubbydubs to New Zealand bushmen, that this website strives to express, and topical observations - like yours at the moment - are exactly the type of mentality we want to challenge, and hopefully change.
Please consider that this site is more than just a "poop site".
iwantasolidturd, it would have been classic if you'd told him "Well, even if I did shit on the baby, I still wouldn't be shitting on your baby" just to see the look on his face.
Next time you scuba dive with this friend, I suggest that you get him to drink at least one bottle of a bottom shelf dry cabernet. He'll squirt such a black mess that he will forever be known as Squid Man.
This was one of the best front page stories I've ever read. The writing was superb, the 50-cent words were perfect, and the concept behind the story was enjoyably humorous, light and dark simultaneously. I was totally entertained. It's about time we get some good intellectual shit here.
It wasn't about competition as some of you guys posted. It was about defending one's right to be a girl who takes a dump and not feel ashamed of it. Someone crashes into the kitchen window, and all you see is "shitting contest". No, it was an assault on our female figure, and it represented a total lack of respect. The fact that this is only seen as a shitting contest doesn't surprise me in the least; men often miss the crap they fling at women, both socially and figuratively.
Nah, fuck that. This rocked. You go, snowpea.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go buy a Helen Reddy album.
This may have been short, but I thought was funny because I had a similar experience in bed a few months ago.
I'd gone to bed around 2 AM on a Friday night, which was earlier than usual. Gator, our American Bulldog, was in between Mr. daphne and me. He's a nice-sized dog who sometimes gets gas.
It was very quiet for a few minutes; the water fountain was bubbling and everything was so calm. I was drifting off into a peaceful sleep when I heard a silent but deadly shake the bedspread.
"Pppppppppffffffffffffffttt."
Gator lifts his head and looks at his ass, which is what he does when he farts like that, and I started to giggle.
It was impossible to stop. Every time I tried to stop, I started again. Then Gator farted a second time and I lost it.
"Ttthhpphhhtt."
Mr. daphne's trying to sleep, and I was now in a fit of hysterics. It felt like a damned slumber party after the hosting mom turned the lights off, when you're supposed to be going to sleep but can't, and that makes it all the harder to stop giggling into the palm of your hand.
Finally, Mr. daphne said, "Are you going to live?" And that made me laugh even harder. It took about 5 minutes for me to calm down.
The WhatFor now stood 7 feet tall, a hairy mountain of muscles and horns. Its fangs were the size of Doritos; it had a tattoo of Morton Downey Jr. on its buttocks.
Never a cowardly man, Logam decided to go out as he had lived, with no apologies. He approached the WhatFor with a purpose. They regarded each other, snacker and snack. Time stood still.
The WhatFor extended its right arm, reaching towards Logjam's face. As it did so, Logjam closed his eyes and awaited the death blow, but it never came.
plink.
Something had lightly tapped him on the nose. When Logjam opened his eyes, he was mere centimeters away from the largest pointer finger that he'd ever seen.
Then, the WhatFor growled 5 words, barely recognizable but unmistakable nonetheless.
"Tag. You're It. April Fool's"
At this point, Logjam crapped his pants in relief. That fucking Daphne.
The dripping from the sink faucet echoed through the house. "Drip, drip, drip, hehehehehe." If one looked close enough at the pile of newspapers in the corner, the outline of a tremendously sticky, fat woman was evident. Icing dripped from her nose.
"Drip, drip, drip."
In what was left of her mind, daphne decided that Logjam must have gotten her package by then. She mused about the WhatFor while twisting burnt, broken strands of hair around her right middle finger. It was now almost long enough to go around once - she was only bald in two or three major spots.
Candles flickered dimly on the kitchen counter; she was unable to bring herself to use real lights ever since the Flashlight Incident. Pool and pools of old wax ran over the edge in cicles that were now close to reaching the stained carpet on the floor. She was going to have to do something about that soon.....
Shadows created by the candles bounced off the pile of human bones in the opposite corner of the dining room. The WhatFor had fed well during its infancy and had made sure to leave the furry costumes of its victims intact and unchewed. It would surely have an appetite after hatching from its chrysalis.
Found another cat in Lil' Bilge's bookbag. This time he denied culpability, though, and Lil' Logjam seemed unusually giddy during the incident. I noticed that he kept picking at a suspicious line of scratches that run the length of his right arm and humming some Ted Nugent song.
It may be time to suggest that his mother to up the medication. Either that, or she stop taking him to the Humane Society during Adopt-a-Cat Saturdays.
Bathroom break has become a nightmare.
I can no longer allow them to go in together. At first it was just long bouts of Soapdish Hockey. It has now escalated to The Bullet in the Radiator Game. And that Lil' Wonderpance! If only she used her talents in a productive manner. She keeps breaking into the the school's main frame and finding loops that set off the fire alarm and sprinklers. I'm at my wit's end.
If I'm not offered a raise at the year's end, it may be time to retire. Let Principal Dave figure out what to do with these ruffians.
Hey! He might be from a generation past ours. The Ronco Solid Flavor Injector was renamed four years after origination. Some British punk band called Moop had a fit over the fact that one of their insipid, earlier albums that happened to be named the exact same thing.
They sued Ronco in the early part of 93. The resulting product name became The Poop Particle Participator. It was mere weeks after that one of the Electric Company flunkies was found dead, overdosed on Ex-Lax, with this exact same text carved into his flesh. The problem was that it was carved into his ass.
Desperate for more press coverage, the API allowed for a one-time-only bastardization of the facts, to allow for something to be carved into his chest, an easier area to get into the bible belt papers. However, due to his sister Edna's wedding, Merl Wookie misread the print; and instead re-captioned the doctored photographed with the the phrase Belt Her or Felt Her. He was absolutely shitfaced on 2 bottle of Wild Irish Rose. In his mind at the time was the most substantial argument he and his wife were having over the fact that Brazilian waxes were now popular yet he still preferred the porn of his childhood - the National Geographic Brillo Pad of Lust.
These miscongruencies have aligned to give us one of the true mysteries of our time.....
Was Ronco indeed a victim of its own ingenuity or simply pooped out of ideas?
Poor sluts after they no longer provide eye candy, you mean.
Wait - are you looking at other women!? WHAT?!
YOU BASTARD, ARE YOU GIVING THOSE BEAN POLE BITCHES MY ICING MONEY?????!!!!!!
He froze in the hallway, not sure of which way to turn.
"Here piggy piggy piggy."
Fingers as fat as Jimmy Dean Sausages gripped the corner of the wall in a spider-like motion, one after the other curling, slowly, menacingly.
"Kookydear, she purred, "Have you been giving those sluts my icing money? How am I supposed to get through the next Oprah marathon without enough Betty Crocker Icing?"
She emerged full view in the hallway. Her thighs slapped together like a couple of sweating Easter hams as she began to pick up speed in his direction. Eyes bulging, Howleykook threw his wallet in her direction and made a narrow escape.
You are a tough crowd of rowdies this afternoon. Someone keeps pelting me with popcorn and JuJubes and Howleykook won't take his hat off.
Our Barney (old kitty) is 17 and looks like a grey version of Bill the Cat (he's so gross), but he's still using the litter box and likes to cuddle, so he's got a reprieve for the time being. Every couple of days he gets lost in the house. He ends up sitting in the middle of the front hallway, yelling for someone to come get him. I wouldn't be surprised if I end up doing the same thing in 40 years, wandering around in the front hallway of one of my kids' houses in a dirty pair of footie pajamas, muttering about tofu, and dragging a half-empty bottle of wine behind me with a dog leash.
Promise me one of you guys will put me to sleep when that bottle of wine is empty.
Email you details? What do you think this is, a porn drive through window? Look buddy, if you want to know what this site is about, read the front page.
And no, you cannot have your Diet Coke with no ice. It causes us to use more pop to fill the cup and we lose money. Two ketchups are enough. Quit complaining. Pull up to the next window and have a nice day.
Ickabod, not that it should matter, men cause and are responsible for MORE automobile accidents that women nationwide. Call your insurance agent if you don't believe me.
And as to your claim that the seat should remain in the up position, ask yourself why there is a cover to the toilet to begin with. Maybe before you decide that this is the only way to think, you should read more of the site, especially about the particles that go into the air if the seat is left up during flushing. If you don't mind that type of thing in your nostrils, on your bathroom counters, etc., then that's your prerogative; thankfully, most of the men who frequent the site are a little cleaner.
I had two thoughts when looking at the urinal extender tube on the toilet.
1.) It scared me because I immediately thought of one of those horrid leech things from Peter Jackson's King Kong. There are only a few movie scenes that have truly wigged me out over the years, and the bug scene from King Kong was one of them.
There's one guy who gets eaten alive by these life-sized leech things grouped together at the edge of the water. When the last leech attached to his head so you couldn't hear him screaming anymore but knew he still was, terrified, in the dark, and now having his face eaten? Eek.
And it was so languid, the whole scene of him getting it. I'm creeped out now.
The urinal extender looks like it's going to come to life and SLLLUUUUURP intself onto someone's doinger, slowly pulling the person into the toilet while they scream to be rescued. It's too alien looking, too alive. I wouldn't get one.
No.
2.) What Dungdaddy said. What if a dude is really short? We walked by a guy out in public recently who was shorter than me, and I thought about him when looking at the picture above. If you're a short guy and go to a friend's house who has one of these, what if you're afraid to tell them that you can't toss your wang up in the little tube and don't know where or how to take the tube off?
I can only imagine the scene in my head. Some poor guy sensitive about his height doesn't want to tell his host or hostess that he can't reach the tube opening, so he tries various acrobatic lunges at it, groin first, hoisting himself from sometimes 3 feet away.
The bathroom is on the second floor, so every time he jumps, the light on the ceiling below him swings and little tufts of plaster float down on top of his friends' hair, who look up in confusion.
Back to Little Man. He lunges once more (because the magazine pile he previously tried to stand on slipped to the side and he wiped out) in a vain attempt to get the pee in the tube, and he ends up catching his underwear on the top of it. He falls on his ass, the tube lands on top of him, old pee that had coagulated around the bottom rim of the tube splatters everywhere, and he pisses his pants. He ends up in a neck brace in the emergency room stinking like asparagus with no explanation for his friends other than "it seemed like the only alternative at the time".
The Christmas tree appeared so fair;
The stockings were hung with such care.
But Santa's gaze lead
To the backyard instead,
Where two feet were stuck up in the air.
"Hot shit!" he exclaimed, "What's that smell?'
"And look where that poor old man fell!'
"Of all the bad places'
"To stick your poor faces'
"About that one I sure wouldn't tell!"
"Then help me out Now!" shouted Shoff.
He was starting to get real pissed off.
At the fat men in red
Who stood there instead,
Eating fruitcake as if at a trough.
"Go fuck yourself Bob!" Laughed Saint Nick,
Who wasn't that terribly quick,
To rescue the guy
With shit in his eye
If the fruitcake he serves tastes this sick.
The foodstuff he held for inspection,
Was filled red and green reflection,
From nasty dried fruit
That would make his butt toot,
And was as hard as a porn king's erection.
"You'll stay there!" Claus roared, "Don't you fight this!'
"This crap's started up my colitis!'
"I'd thought it was gone,'
"But this cake brought it on'
"And only one thing could possibly right this!'
"What's that!?" cried Bob Shoff, filled with dread.
"Please come get me out now instead!'
"NO way!" shouted Nick,
"You've earned this you dick.'
"And so you'll remain on your head!"
"There will always be those Christmas Eves'
"For Santa to give his reprieves'
"But bad fruitcake treat,'
"Most always will meet'
"A septic tank as Santa leaves!"
And for the misogynist in all of us, since we're bashing the ladeeth............
Bob Schoff took a tumble and fell
Into a crap-infested Hell
When asked 'bout the view,
He yelled, "Nothing new,"
"When your wife looks as bad as the smell!"
Well, you know what they say, go with what you know. Don't be mean....
He fell hard, that man from Des Moines,
And disappeared up to his groin.
But it was worth the rank stank,
When from we heard from tank,
"Oh look, I found Daphne's lost coin!"
LOL! It would be something to fart and not have it escape. Slowly, your ass rises off the chair, like a balloon.......then your sphincter kicks in and you end up blowing around the room til' you find yourself laying flat on the floor.
Leave the toilet seat up at my house. I'll give you something to bitch about.
Go ahead. Leave an open toilet at 3 AM so I douse my entire bumbum in stanky danky pee pee water because you can't close the lid and I'm half asleep. You'd wake up to the sound and feel of THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP, soaking wet thongs slapping across your eyelids. That would be my way of wringing them out.
Why I oughtta. I'm going to beat you with doniker's underwear toothbrush, that's what I'm going to do.
(doniker, i am sure your toothbrush is clean - i'm just having some fun with the newb - welcome to poopreport, Howleykook. your website looks promising!)
You're next on my list, Boots. I'm packing up the Mr. Bubble and two 10-foot window brushes and heading for the 3 Rivers to dump you in one of them. If you struggle, the belt sander's coming out. You know you want it.
Now, I'll need a few things from you:
- list of your next of kin.
- 25 foot fire hose.
- 1 pressure washer.
- 4 250-pound test ground springs to attach to
- 35 feet of climbing rope to make sure the water blast doesn't toss you into the street. .....I've lost more clients that way.......
- 2 otters (don't ask)
- 6 watermelons
Make sure your health insurance covers road rash, rug burn, and perforated bowels.
That was the shortest reformation in the history of Poopreport, you stinking bastard.
One minute you're all "I'm clean and loving it", and the next I find you armpit deep in our garbage can, routing around for the leftover turkey carcass because it's craft time at the looney bin and you want to make anorexic finger puppets out of the ribs for therapy Thursdays.
Make up your damned mind. If I have to come in there and pull you out, I swear to God that I'm going to forcefeed you half a container of Metamucil that's been mixed with Scope. You'll shit peppermint turds so fragrant that I could use them as air fresheners in my car.
Get your act strait. I'll track that trail of slime you ooze until it stops at your front door, and then, your ass is mine. I'm bringing 2 gallons of bleach and an idustrial-sized cheese grater. And then you'll be clean, Feto. By God, you'll be clean.
Dahduhduh! Dahduhduh! (ESPN Sports Center Music....)
"Welcome back to Sports Center. I'm Daphne, and alongside me is the King of Caca, Poopreport.com founder Dave. Tonight the Top Ten Poops of the Day are brought to you by Sphincterine - Sphincterine, make your ass sparkle."
"The Top Poop of the Day comes to us from internet Mike."
"Yes, Daphne, this shit-filled explosion tests the limits of taste indeed. Let's stand by for the play-by-play. Here we have the kickoff, yes, yes............we see Max stumbling...fumbling the brown recovery............Oh he's going, going, .................FEEK! ALL IN THE HALL - WITH NO YIELD."
"Dear God, what the hell did that boy eat?"
"It appears, OK, instant replay confirms corn, which is a good thing. There was a bit of controversy over the call earlier. We always receive flack from the viewers when the home field advantage threatens to tip the scales."
"Whew. Hey man, you spilled your coffee."
"Thank God that's coffee, Daphne. Later on in the broadcast, we'll have an up close and personal with Leif Chucknuggetti, European Cow Chip Flinging Champion. That's right sports fans, it's time for the regional qualifying rounds already. Take it away, Daphne."
"Thank you, Dave. We'll be back after this commercial break from our sponsors."
"If you find some poopy, and don't think it's sexay, come on Daddy let me know................
If you leave it sitting underneath my pillow, I'll be sure to see say Oh No - Dad's done it again"
There are so many possibilities. _______ .....hugging bunnies since 1969 www.daphneszoo.com
I am not sympathetic to anyone who leaves fecal material around for their spouse to clean up. That's a level of disrespect that doesn't even happen here.
If there is a dingleberry in the shower drain, I tell Mr. daphne to go clean it out.
If he has a bad back, try buying flushable, moist wipes and asking him to reach and wipe from the front. You can still wipe front to back from the front and it shouldn't hurt his back as much as wiping from behind.
Maybe you should pull a Rod Stewart on him. This might be such an occasion.
We've all mostly likely been to a few expo-type affairs. Some people go the Star Trek or comic book conventions, or if you have a specialized career, conventions for products for your vocation. Whe Dave mentioned the porta-potty expo, a surreal version came to mind that had nothing to do with the one he described. At the risk of making light of the affair (which by means is NOT my intention), the image is just too bizarre to keep to myself.
Images of hot babe product models in tight, twinkly dresses and outlandishly dressed porta-potty fans walking around looking for their favorite brands' booths in search of autographs appeared. Then I thought about mascots. What about mascots? Surely there would be a few of those. Would there be toilet paper rolls or barrels of blue chemical walking around, seemingly supported by a pair of legs in tights? Why yes.
Overly-done, spinning platforms large enough to support a porta-potty, covered in huge, flashing blue and orange stage bulbs, twinkling every two seconds, turning slowly - the rotisserie chicken approach to 360 degree viewing lent to showing off the newest, top of the line handi-crapper.
Crazed video productions of steroided-up women in red, white, and blue bikinis shooting M-16's at the side of a porta-potty to demonstrate their ability to withstand tipping, rocks, and worst of all, drunk concert-goers with bad aim.
Loud music floats from speakers overhead, and Dave wanders through the mirage of potty mania, his head spinning as person after person from surrounding booths him attempt to lure him over to sign up for 20 thousand cases of single-ply. They're dressed like carnies from the Thirties. They have red and white striped canes. We see the Dave through a fish-eye lense, looking around and around, his hair a a halo colored by the flashing lights, swallowed by the magnitude that is Porta-Potty Expo 2007. Why buy the whole seat when you only need the edge?
But seriously, the whole description of what you're doing right now, Dave, is wonderful. This must be something you never imagined a few years ago. I hope you post more about it soon. Stay safe and we love you.
I'd probably do nothing, honestly, more than sit there and wonder how weird it is to call someone while on the shitter. I mean, it's not like it's going to affect my day, unless I'm worried about her or her friend hearing me poop, which wouldn't be my problem.
If I did have the guts to do anything, I would flush the toilet repeatedly, hoping it was one of those really loud, Wal-Mart, vortex5 specials, so she would have to talk louder.
Now, in a perfect world, I'd have not a shread of couth left. This being the new case, I'd pretend to make a call, too, and order pizza. Loudly. With direct orders to deliver it to my stall. And I'd make a point of banging on the partition between us and asking her what type of toppings she wanted, hoping she'd have some comment for me. And in this perfect world, I'd have the guts to say, "Well, if you're going to be putting something up to your ear that might end up getting bathroom bacteria on it, which would in turn get that bacteria all over the side of your face, I figured you wouldn't be the type of person who's picky about where you eat." But it would never happen.
Somewhere, George Carlin is weeping with joy. He doesn't know why. He just knows somewhere, somehow, someone has said something he'd agree with. And Deja Poo is that person.
Maybe you should tell your prospective love interests about your IBS so they would know not to get out of the car and follow you when you say "I'll be right back" in that fashion that women do even when you tell them you're going to be right back.
Why do we do that? Why can't we just sit in the car and fucking wait?
Her attempting to follow you bothered me while reading this for some reason. I have no idea why. As I read about the door slamming shut, I got irritated. No, she didn't know that you were squatting in the sand, but what the hell did she think you were doing? Buy a clue?
I don't know. Maybe it's just me.
So, yeah, don't be afraid to tell a prospective girlfriend. Maybe there's a story or two that you've starred in you could tell that are funny. Your good natured ability to handle your IBS could be seen as a strength - men who can laugh at themselves are pretty attractive. If she's grossed out, ask yourself if you really want to date a woman who can't handle your condition or seems to have a stodgy sense of humor. What fun would she be?
And you might want to consider going on these dates with a travel sized pack of flushable wet wipes that fit into your pocket. You'd lose less underwear......
Oh, almost forgot, how uncomfortable was the ride home?
I most certainly can in my head. But then when I try to explain it with words, it comes out sounding like something Blankman would say.
Ah, he's kind of comparing how we have caused alot of pollution when we advanced as a industrial society to Freud's concept of that changing natural impulses, ignoring them, etc., for the sake of fitting in to what's considered normal as an "advancement" will pollute one's psyche, mental well-being.
OK, Bunga, just how bad did I fuck that up? I tried......
Hey, W, I just approved your comment, which is why it took a bit to show up, even though it was first.
Let me answer your question "Isn't this the serious section after all?"
First, yes, it is. But, if you take the time to read what Motherload says, she's answering in incredulity, not satire.
W, we received about 100 posts to approve a week from non-registered people asking for medical advice. Not alot of them are approved because the answer to their posts is often above in the thread or page in which they are waiting for approval. The answer will most always be SEE A DOCTOR.
I don't feel Motherload was out of line in taking a light or shocked tone that you'd ask for help if you indeed thought your intestine was falling out instead of calling your doctor. Think about what you've asked. You've asked if a body part that's normally inside could be hanging out, and you took the time to write to a web site mostly dedicated to intellectual poop humor (although we do try to help people) instead of asking a medical doctor or calling a medical help line.
We are greatly aware that there is a butt stigma involved here; no one wants to go to the doctor when it involves such a taboo subject. We field questions daily such as:
I'm bleeding from the anus heavily. Should I see a doctor?
My stool is bloody. What should I do?
I haven't pooped in two weeks. How can I poop?
I haven't pooped in weeks, and now I'm vomiting. What should I do?
and so on........
Some of these questions are so serious that we sit here, moderators of the front page, and scratch our heads, wondering, how we can truly send the information back to this person fast enough. Sometimes an unapproved comment will sit for a couple of hours if no front page mods happen to be online.
In that meantime, the person bleeding from the rectum could become seriously ill, if indeed his or her injury is that bad.
Because you chose to ask a website that is based on humor for medical advice - even though we do try to be serious and help people - you have to understand that even the correct answer (which you received, because what you described could have been serious) may be lightly sprinkled with a bit of humor or jocular shock. After all, you've expected Motherload to correctly diagnose your butt unseen, with her only means of diagnosis being an email. What if she told you "it sounds like an external/internal hemorrhoid, don't worry about it" and then you end up being hospitalized later because she was wrong? Let me ask you this - if a part of your nose came out every time you blew your nose, or a piece of flesh came out of your eye when you sneezed, would you have chosen to sit at home and ask a group on the internet or would you have called your doctor?
If you look at it this way, you may not feel so embarrassed about seeing a proctologist. Remember, you're wouldn't be the only asshole he'd seen that day. No pun intended.
We're glad that you're alright. In fact, that's what we like to hear.
I also think it was a bit dumb to take a sick baby out, but then again.......I wanna' play devil's advocate!
We kind of sound like the type of people who would watch a movie like The Sandlot and call CPS because the kids got sick on a carnival ride from chewing tobacco.
She's a young mom who didn't give her kid up for adoption or have an abortion. She took her brother along with her and changed his diapers so many times she ran out because she cared enough to change his diapers and didn't leave him in his own shit. She had the sense to at least try to clean him up before taking him home instead of leaving him sitting in his own poop. She has sentence structure that at least passes for tenth grade and the ability to be honest. She attempted to clean up the cab instead of flashing him for Springer beads, drop-kicking him in the junk and then telling him to Go To Oprah.
I would have also rathered she keep a sick child home, but I was 16 once, and it was hard enough staying away from the mall single and childless. Imagine how hard it would be with even less time to yourself. Not everyone starts life off by the manual, you know. I think she'll be OK.
Because you know it's chicken and rice. HA! I totally understand.
A few years ago when I was working at a wildlife rehab, I took some leftover vegetarian MRE junk for lunch. I ate a "vegetarian burrito" that had black beans in it and some amalgamation of substance that suggested beans. It was covered in this horribly paper-tasting tortilla. Then the husband of the rehab owner, a former pilot for the military, told me I was suppposed to take that off before eating it. The whole thing tasted so fake I didn't realize that I'd eaten the paper wrapper around it.
There's something funny about being in a shitter at a ballgame when someone hits a homer. I went a few years ago and got to listen to one of three hit that day while I was peeing. I pretended they were cheering for me.
"Anonymous Coward (not verified) -- 03.27.2007
Regardless if this being bad or not it is still funny! It also does wonders for the yapping dogs next door. A little chocolate ex-lax melted and poured into hollowed out hotdogs makes a mess!"
People like you piss me the fuck off. Instead of talking to the owner, you instead hurt the dog like the coward that you are. It would be too much to talk to the owner, wouldn't it? You might actually have to stand before a real, live person and address them.
No, instead, you poison a living creature that's not really in control of its actions.
You know, this shit comes back on you. It really does. Karma does have a way of getting people back when they pull gutless stunts like this, and I would love to be there when it finds you.
GGG wrote... "Do remember what she did with the hanger? :p
"
For some reason this is making me laugh, and hard. Maybe it's the tongue. Thank you! No, I have no idea. *shudder*
You know, on the subject of my trailer trash upbringing.....my one gramma used to smoke alot. She was a piano player in a lounge band for 18 years. I have some amazing still shots of her and her band in our office. She was a hot gramma back then. I think the cigarette smoking was just normal for that lifestyle. Heh, CEP, you called me trailer trash. I love that. It's even funnier that I'm wearing torn shorts right now and sitting next to a huge guinea pig cage that's in the livingroom. Jesus, I am white trash.
That makes me laugh, Thunderous! Now, I want to do this. I don't know about the murder, but maybe something like,
"Did you get the test results?"
"Yeah. It's what I feared."
"So, have many people do you have to call?"
"23 that I can think of. Some of my regular clients still insist on condoms, or it's be worse."
"Rash?"
"God yes. And the scabs."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Me too. How am I going to pay for Ray-Ray's hormone shots now?"
And so on. All on speaker phone. Of course, it wouldn't be so funny were there to be kids in the restroom, but otherwise, a sister can dream.........
Oh, I voted for someone trying to start a conversation with me because I think it's just a bit creepy. However, were there to be an option for Little Kids of the Opposite Sex Peeking in the Crack Between the Door and the Stall Partition, I'd have chosen that. If you bring your little boy into the Ladies' Room, please teach him the concept of respecting privacy. I like to say "Hey! Are you watching me pee, little boy?!" loudly. It never fails to make me laugh when the mother takes offense to it!
One of the things I've done is to bring wet wipes into the house. They're in every bathroom, and I told my man strait up I wanted him to use them. He likes them, and they help because he smells less.
As to not sharing towels or doing his laundry, I agree. I sometimes find poop skids on the edge of a certain person's side of the bed, and it drives me nuts. There's nothing grosser.......
And there's no way to get around this. You have to tell him he stinks like shit and that he should be "wiping until it's gone". The one thing no one can argue is the concept of NOT wiping until it's gone. Ask him if he does this.
Then tell him about the bacteria poop hosts, and ask him why he would wonder his butt itches. Remind him that bacteria can lead to diaper rash, which is what he has, and bed sores, which is what he could get. The rationale behind this is that his skin gets inflamed with blood fighting infection that might be left behind from the poop. Inflamed skin hurts, itches. This is why you have to keep hemmorhoids clean.
As another in the brown trenches with you, married to a skidd-mark artist, I empathize totally: because of this, I cannot be more emphatic that you have to tell him he stinks like poop. Any other remark can be rationalized away or excused.
My best wishes to you. Hey, if push comes to shove, nothing says "you smell" like spraying room freshener on his ass when he gets up. I've done this out of necessity. I'm not proud.
I felt like the ghost of John Steinbeck had the shits in this story and possessed doniker long enough to get his long-silent fingers on the keyboard!!! All we needed was an immigrant worker kneeding tortilla dough in the corner of that room and I'd scream "POO-LITZER!!!"
Nothing like depressing shit to spackle throughout our holiday season......and I mean that in the funnest sense possible. I liked it.
And I'm really proud of you for going back to school. You and I are in the same boat. Over the hill and learning new tricks. I hope you'll do great.
I bought 2 boxes of Power Bars in Germany once because they were 25 cents a piece. They were great! I ate those things soley for a weekend during a softball tournament (with the exception of one banana) and some water, and I pooped just fine. Power Bars kick ass.
It sounds like what you ate kicked ass, too, but it was your ass they kicked!
Your mention of the pyramid scheme business reminds me of our experience with one of them..........In Ft. Polk, a friend on our softball team had us over to see "the plan" (it was Amway) and asked us to join. She said she was really happy with the products and liked the people. Just by buying certain things for her home, she was saving money and all that.
We were so poor back then that we said, "If we join, it will not be for a couple of months" because I think it was going to cost around 300 dollars for the initial buy-up.
We didn't think about the pyramid construct, that we would be expected to get others on the chain so the "emeralds" and "diamonds" had money coming from us and that we wouldn't be dead ends for them.
It was a blessing in disguise, being out of cash, because our friend's life took a turn for the weird.
She told me a couple of weeks later that they were now being hounded to do "the plan" every night of the week that they could and that buying their own groceries wasn't good enough any more, even though that's what they had been told by their sponsors when they first joined. "The plan" was getting a bunch of the people you'd like to ensnare into this mess together and having one of your upper sponsors explain how it makes you money if you can get others to join after you. Boooring, and it never changed. One hour of the same plan, night after night......agh!
We watched the madness as she and her husband just told them "I've decided to just be in Amway to buy the products and enjoy the savings." No dice. They got hounded so much they felt the need to quit, but only after being invited to an orgy that their sponsors had on a seemingly-regular basis with between themselves and others in their line. It makes me wonder if my friend and her husband were singled out for Amway because of the line alone or because they were in swinging demand. She told me after this, "Every time I see ________ at the comissary, I get grossed out because I know they were thinking about us 'that way'. And why's ________ shopping here anyway? Aren't they supposed to buy Amyway stuff? I wonder if they're fishing for new recruits."
She said later that she missed a few of the things Amway gave them, and one of those things was the hot chocolate, which was really good.
It is so nice to see your name again. You know, I think that you should be some sort of official spokesperson on this for every person who writes in saying "I'm bleeding from my butt and don't know what to do. It's been going on for a week solid."
These people worry me sometimes. When I have to OK a comment from a poster who's not verified and I see these types of comments, I usually try to post after them with some warning of hemmorhoids, fiber, or to get to a doctor. Sometimes I get so frustrated that I try to email them if the email works that they leave for us.
It would be nice to have some type of front page link that is labelled "If you are bleeding from your butt, click here NOW." and then it would bring the site surfer to a page full of stories like this one, posted especially for the purpose of explaining why these people should visit a doctor or not be afraid to call their health care providers, and it would be a page that would not accept comments. I know we have "ask motherload" and I like that very much (always have liked the poonurse idea), but some symptoms people attempt to pass off truly amaze me.
I think it's different to ask a question about white poop, funny discharge, green poop, or butt bumps than to inquire what to do when you're bleeding out the ass for days on end, even when you haven't just pooped.
I hope you stick around from now on and continue to contribute to the site. Big cyber hug from a professional time-waster........
I, too, think the remark by Thunderbox missed the point that antibiotics can kill our natural internal bacteria. You can be as healthy as hell and still get sick from time to time.
I had a relative that visited another relative in the hospital and came down with a staff infection, that, after treatment, left her quite "flushed out", and I don't think her eating yogurt before going to the hospital would have prevented it.
Obviously, this is an extreme measure, and I don't think any of us can trash it unless we've spent the morning doing a bit more reading as to its reviews by unbiased critics. And by unbiased critics I mean people or organizations that don't benefit from the practice suceeding or failing.
And personally, I don't mind the 5 star rating thing for the stories. Lots of sites have story rating systems. But then, Double Flush and CEP have valid points that maybe the ratings system would decrease the fun or importance of the comments section.
Grogan, I could not agree with you more. I have redneck friends, and they are thy type who will answer the phone at 3 AM when you're on the other end and want to know a good place to bury a dead body who will say, "Let me get my shovel and help you git-r'done." Rednecks will give you the shirt off their backs and share their last beer. Simple people? Maybe. But sure as hell decent in many ways.
White or "trailer" trash will steal your dearly-departed gramma's wedding rings off your bedroom nightstand to trade in for 2 cases of Nighttrain and then blame it on the dog.
Just remember people...without trailer trash or rednecks, the aliens will only have "us" to abduct....... _______ .....hugging bunnies since 1969 www.daphneszoo.com
Against my efforts, I'm now seeing Chuckie with a mullet. It brings a whole new "Joe Dirt" feel to this story, right down to tee tops on the car. Damn you CEP. You and your imagery. You charismatic hunk of conservative pathos. Now I know later I'm going to go back and read all 3 parts of this story with David Spade in my mind.
Double Flush, here's an off topic remark on something I've seen occur over dog shit. It's kind of funny and relates to the theme of justice....
A woman whose husband was the area mayor used to let her dog out to shit across the street while she watched him. The nerve! She never cleaned it up, either. As I walked Gator in the day, I'd catch her doing this from time to time. Well, I was walking Gator one morning after the kids went to school and watched the same woman standing with her door open watching her dog shit on the neighbor's yard, when then the hilarious happened.
The woman who owned the yard said dog was using came out, offered the dog a cookie, and while the dog ate the cookie, she picked up the shit in a plastic bag. Then she used a twisty to tie it to the dog's collar and sent him back across the street, all in front of the woman who owned the dog.
It was really funny to watch the area mayor's wife react to this. She stood there watching the woman tie the shit to the dog's collar, fuming. I stood about 60 feet away, keeping Gator from eating the dog, mesmerized by the unfolding scene. When the dog went back to its owner, I began to walk towards the scene, where I was able to hear the area mayor's wife cuss and mutter about taking care of business. I think this could be considered turd justice or retaliation.
Awesome!!!!!!.........Of course I love it, as any fur that's ruined is a good thing to me. Alot of people don't know this, but there is fur lining on items in this country that actually came from dogs. They're beaten and skinned. Not that any animal is acceptable to skin for its fur unless you're eating the entire thing, but to think that one doesn't know where the fur came from is chilling to me as a bunnyhugger. I feel bad for your mom in that she probably didn't think of the cruelty issues (who did back then) and the fur jacket was, I'm sure, one of her nicest things. It's just my nature to shudder at fur lining, jackets, and all that. Even rabbit fur. I've read about these "rabbit farms" that raise them for food and fur, and they aren't treated very well at all. No one wants to talk about the living conditions of livestock.....I digress.....pardon the rant.....
my first memory of a "poop-related incident" happened in our bathroom when I was four years old.
I shat in the tub. I seem to remember that it just came out and I wasn't prepared for it. Afraid of telling my mom, I sat there, wondering what to do. What I ended up doing is more than weird.....I rememember looking at all these little pieces of poop and, while terrified of telling my parents, began to imagine the poop was a family of octopusses, or octopi. Yeah, I did. "Uh, that's the ticket. They're, they're, octo-pusses! Yeah, that's it....And I'm the....octopus president, matter of fact, I INVENTED them....."
Don't ask me. I don't know either. I need a tune up and an oil change.
Well, there I was, in a poop soup, lost in a cephalapod-related haze, when my mom came in and went slightly medieval on me, yelling and yanking me out of the tub and drawing a new bath.
Looking back on it, I am constantly reminded to not get mad at my children when they spill things or throw up in bed because they're sick or break things out of pure accident.
Ya' know, I wasn't going to get into this, but I don't see how you can compare the humor in poop, because it's something everyone does and just about everyone has had to race to the toilet once, and being able to use words like nigger, guinea (but I sure did love my guinea pig), mic, wetback, spic, wop, scratchback, butt pirate, cunt, faggot, carpetmuncher, dike, towelhead, sand nigger, camel jockey, etc., on this site.
Us discussing poop with humor and in a non-fetish way is a positive thing.
Being able to racially or ethnically slander someone "just cause" is a negative thing.
I know how doniker feels about certain lifestyles. I understand that. But, that wasn't the main line of this story, so maybe it could be better to comment on another part. I have a hard time sitting by when people bash liberals or animal lovers (because I a.) love animals and 2.) am quite a productive liberal who believes in people not leaning on the system for a free ride), but I do manage to try to stay on subject as best I can for the flavor of the site. It's not about me. It's about poop and the 40-yard dash to the bathroom door.
Well, I, for one, am happy that I can type shit, fuck, screw you, balls, goddammit, etc. all I want on this site. There is a difference between us being able to use swear words and say things that are offensive in other ways.
Fuckity fuck fuck. To no one in general, just fucking fuck fuck. That felt good.
Well, I, too, can edit a post for you, Dumpster. But, my best advice is to use the preview button before you post.
I tend to preview my posts so I don't make dunderhead mistakes, because I tend to make dunderhead mistakes.
And you know, Doniker, I do see some comments that still come through that are a bit colorful. But, I think it's important to be able to edit a good deal of the "crap" people put here, like "LOL" as their entire post. It's like, "OK, if it made you laugh, that's cool, but we don't need to KNOW you laughed. We might like to know WHY it made you laugh..."
And I don't like racial or ethnic slurs or gay bashing. This isn't the place for it. Poopreport should and always will be the nicest little website on the net. This is why we have the flames section in the forum.
And you know, an alphabetized dictionary would be funny. We could urban dictionary it so everyone could donate. That would be monitored, too; but it would be cool.
Funny that someone who hates Harry Potter for being Satanic will poop in the books, which is itself considered related to Satanic activity.
You know, I wonder why bookstores don't have magazine racks in the bathroom for those who drink 4 coffee drinks and then want to take a dump and read something. I will take all my old magazines to the dentist office or post or wherever. The hospital. It's a good way to get rid of your magazines and save others who are dying of boredom. Take your name off the cover, though.
I see that I am not the only person who trolls the site after drinking a bottle wine.
Intellectual? I've give you intellectual. I'll, why, I'll make a poem for you, that's what I'll do.
SmockySmockySmock.
Your breath, it smell like cock.
Your face is so damn ugly.
That it can stop a clock.
I hear your balls are blue.
They knock around your knees.
I'd be that far down, too,
To avoid your ass's breeze.
Smocky, lighten up or I'll make more poems about you.
_______
.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com