Nice report. What a horrible position to be in, without a contingency plan... My heart went out to the bus driver.
While I loved the Magic School Bus, the tune to The Door's Magic Bus kept running through my head. Here's a poop verion:
Every day my colon feels the queue (Too much, Magic Bus)
To get off that bus and visit the loo (Too much, Magic Bus)
Colon’s a churning, I just sit and squirm (Too much, Magic Bus)
The School is only another turn (Too much, Magic Bus)
Thank you, bus, for getting me here (Too much, Magic Bus)
Imodium has failed, butt lava is near (Too much, Magic Bus)
I don't want to cause no fuss (Too much, Magic Bus)
How long before my pants are a’muss ? (Too much, Magic Bus)
Nooooooooo!
I don't care how much I pray and pray (Too much, Magic Bus)
I wanna drive my bus to a toilet each day (Too much, Magic Bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (You can't have it!)
Butt trumpets and suspense every day
Need to get to school and poop away
Butt trumpets and suspense each day
'Cause I need the toilet in the worst way
Was the Czech granny maybe talking about you and TD? I can't fathom it.. Not believing it. But still: Gigigi and your acronym? Is it just a coincidence?
Dumpie, acting as though he were really-butt hurt, puts his suitcase in closet until the PR convention.
Rat Droppings and BITJ (spoken-for ladies), and many more females who are actually available and looking, wander as they wonder about the luscious maybe-kinda-sorta-wannabe-alluded-to available Dumpster.
Bunga, ever-lusty semiquasi gent, makes himself, somewhat-kind of-wish-he-could (in some instances available to the neighborly Canadian lasses) to.... mediate.
Meanwhile, I see the relation between the weird and somewhat ambiguous "Is that you behind those Foster Grants?" tee-shirt and that of the new, improved Poop Report tee.
Most inappropriate? Let me trot you through it......
Every Saturday morning, without fail, when I'd want to sleep in until at least 8 a.m., my crazy bitch nosy neighbor would be up -- back-packing her gas-operated leaf blower. (This was before the city passed a noise pollution ban ordinance, specifically targeting inconsiderate boobs such as she.) I asked her nicely a few times to please postpone her Saturday ritual until after 10 a.m. But, noooooo.
Wasn't it bad enough that I'd constantly see her peeping from behind the window sheers at everybody who passed by? She wouldn't just stand at the window or go outside, she'd sneaky peek. I'd just wave my arm in an exaggerated Miss America fashion everytime I saw her peeping. Ya know, just to piss her off.
I'd had worked a particularly long workweek, pulling down a 60+ hours at the office. I arrived home late on that Friday evening. Too tired to read or even zone out in front of the tube, I ate some fruit, brushed my teeth and crashed and burned on my faithful Serta.
Brrhhhhhh..... BRRHHHHHH.....BRRR HHHHHHH..... The cacophony jerks me out of a dead sleep. I glanced over at the clock, blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I squint and register that the bright green numbers read seven-two-three. That's right, 7:23 aaa-friggin'-emmm in the morning. Alright, you mustached train wreck of a (I can't even call her woman) dung heap, THIS IS WAR!!
I know this Keystone Nazi (we'll call her Gladys) either plays bingo, attends key-drop-and-swap parties, or whatever.... every Wednesday night from at 6:30 to ~10:30 p.m. and I plot my revenge..... Oh, do I plot....
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday prior to the incident I'm chute-loading: stuffing fruit, whole-grains, and fried greasy foods I don't ordinarily eat, down my gullet in preparation.... Mr. Bunghole notices the copious amounts of food I'm consuming and gingerly inquires if "Auntie Flo" will be visiting soon and did I "want a Dove Bar"??? {Golly, that man's a saint!}
Monday, I took a mild laxative and had my usual constitutional the next morning. Ditto on Tuesday. Same thing Wednesday. I'm noticing after I'd consumed a pear, some prunes and a large order of those tasty crisscut fried potatoes for Wednesday's lunch that my stomach is gurgling ever so slightly. Good, it's working its way down my predictable pipes. A few SBDs break loose from my O-ring --not enough to soil-- but they're definitely in the dew point range....
I leave work at 5:49 p.m. Great! The freeway is backed up like my plumbing and there's no relief in sight. The whole commute home, my gut is clamping down like a hooker's cooch on a Franklin and I'm shifting from cheek-to-cheek, hoping to abate the gas gurgles.
Car door flies open after I screech around the corner (we're talking whiplash as I clutch-pop from first to second gear, leaving scratch at the stopsign at the intersection before my turnoff). I mincingly turkeytrot myself through the front door and leave my attache and purse on the bench in the entryway. Not stopping, I kicked off my heels and step out of the torture device, commonly known as pantyhose. Undies are last. I don't even bother to change out of my dress.
Barefoot with bunghole locked and loaded, I pass through the garage only long enough to don some latex gloves and pick up a small prybar in case I need it. I beeline to Gladys' toolshed, which is separate from her house. Perfect! The creatin hadn't bothered to lock the side-entry door.
From light filtering through the small shed window,I'm able to quickly locate the tool whose nozzle I'd wanted to shove up her ass and turn on every Saturday morning. I took it off the wall hook and laid the hated device on the shed floor. I calmly hitched up my dress and copped a real big squat and squelsh. You wanna talk hot shit? It was ALL OVER the leaf blower and managed to plop some through the nozzle opening too!! I spedwalked home, stripped off my dress and bra and hopped into warm shower that lasted a good 20 minutes. Screw the consumer water conservation leaflet on the entry table!!!
Next Saturday morning, I slept in until the alarm sounded at 10 a.m. And Gladys? Her furtive peeks through the window sheers decreased and she hired a gardener a couple of weeks after the incident.
Many years have passed and I've since relocated, but I'll never, ever forget that beautiful poo stew I left behind in Gladys' shed.....
I've always maintained that HR folks have the shittiest jobs. That said, The Shit Volcano was definitely on the right track:
1. Bag the existing TP evidence for matching purposes.
2. Dim the bathroom lights (removing a fluorescent tube or two if necessary).
3. Sprinkle super-fine body glitter on the stall-area floor.
4. Follow the glittery tread leading back to the culprit office/cubicle.
Signed--An Inspector Gadget Fan and Previous Poo-Crime Forensic Operative
I'm sure that somewhere in the recesses of your grey matter this made sense when you typed it. For the larger populus, the comments you provide are an argument for:
1) PRIVATE SCHOOLING
2) SCHOOLING AT THE SCHOOL OF BRAILLE
3) GOVERNMENT-SUBSIDIZATION FOR THOSE WHO PURSUE A JURIS DEGREE
_______ "Odor in the court! The judge is eating beans--his wife is in the bathtub counting submarines." Author Unknown
I know I'm just small turd in the bowl of the poop report, but I had an idea for an anthem.... A Poop For Peace Anthem (to the tune of Cat Steven’s Peace Train)
I've been feeling crappy lately, thinking about the need to make dung
And I believe ‘Poop for Peace’ is a’ coming, something good has begun.
Oh I've been smiling lately, dreaming of crapping as one
And I believe its going to happen: April 14th it'll come.
Riding along the edge of darkness, please glide along, piece strain
Oh piece strain take this load off, come take it home again
Oh I've been smiling lately, dreaming of crapping as one
And I believe it’s going to happen: April 14th it’ll come.
Oh piece strain sounding louder
Glide on out, please, piece strain
Come on out now, piece strain
Yeah! Piece strain you slow mo’fo roller
Everyone ride out the piece strain
Come on out now, piece strain.
Collect butt nuggets together, go bring your good friends too
Cause it's getting nearer, soon t'will be mega pooh.
Come and join the pooh giving, careful of your new shoe
And it's getting nearer, soon it will all be doo-doo.
I've been crying lately, thinking how hard this shit is…
Why go on fighting and grunting, why can't we live in spent bliss?
Riding along the edge of darkness, please glide along, piece strain
Oh piece strain take this load off, come take it home again
"Odor in the court! The judge is eating beans--his wife is in the bathtub counting submarines." Author Unknown
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Nice report. What a horrible position to be in, without a contingency plan... My heart went out to the bus driver.
While I loved the Magic School Bus, the tune to The Door's Magic Bus kept running through my head. Here's a poop verion:
Every day my colon feels the queue (Too much, Magic Bus)
To get off that bus and visit the loo (Too much, Magic Bus)
Colon’s a churning, I just sit and squirm (Too much, Magic Bus)
The School is only another turn (Too much, Magic Bus)
Thank you, bus, for getting me here (Too much, Magic Bus)
Imodium has failed, butt lava is near (Too much, Magic Bus)
I don't want to cause no fuss (Too much, Magic Bus)
How long before my pants are a’muss ? (Too much, Magic Bus)
Nooooooooo!
I don't care how much I pray and pray (Too much, Magic Bus)
I wanna drive my bus to a toilet each day (Too much, Magic Bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (You can't have it!)
Butt trumpets and suspense every day
Need to get to school and poop away
Butt trumpets and suspense each day
'Cause I need the toilet in the worst way
Magic Bus, Magic Bus, Magic Bus ...