A slap-happy chappy named Shoff,
Felt as gross as a pig at the trough,
When in sewage he fell,
He survived it to tell,
That he'd rather be diving for muff.

br>_______
Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

BlackBeanSoup: I do not make up stories or even parts of stories. You seem to have found it necessary to doubt everything I wrote and to flame me in the process. Why the visceral reaction? Not liking the story is your right, but the name-calling is pretty lame.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

GGG--I had no intention of doing any further probing into this matter. (Pun intended.)

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

It is written: a lawyer's asshole is an open and shut case.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

Swallow a fly? Not likely to die. Guzzle some Pluto? You'll farto and pooto!

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

It is written that many cobras shall s(curry) from his hind-end. It is further written that many charmers shall head for the mountains.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

Over the years, Dave-O has been hounded by certain shitstains--among them The_Shitman, The Holy Shitter, Super Bowel and Dr. James. As a group, they've done everything from blanketing the Forums with their obsessive and/or crude, harrassing crap to posting profanity and scat pics to hacking and bringing down the site. (Good thing, Dave-O had everything backed-up!)

I've been around long enough to have experienced the antics of all four of these, particularly The Holy Shitter, who had personal vendettas against myself and Dave-O.

All of them wanted attention and lots of it--and not the good kind of attention. They wanted to disrupt, provoke and vilify. If I never see another syllable from any of them, it will be too soon.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

log of hazzard writes: "However, when (Dumpster) wrote it, he seemed really horny."

As opposed to when that he doesn't? It's one of his more consistent traits. And this was definitely one of his best efforts.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

Padded seat in padded cell--
Whoops! I've gone to pooping Hell!

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

This just in from the Anal Retentive Fashion Police: Designer Vera Wang has been arrested on public indecency charges for not changing her name long ago.

Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

What do you mean do women poop less frequently than men? Everyone knows women poop pretty pink powderpuffs all the time, round the clock, 24/7, like little angels on the clouds.

So, no, women poop far more frequently than men to keep our environment lovely and fragrant and pastel precious.

Any questions?

_______
Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

Notice From The Mods: Unless your computer is broken, there is no reason to use the caps lock on any thread. Caps lock posts do *not* stand out better. They are simply annoying and subject to laming. Keep doing it and you will be subject to being banned.
_______
Pulling My Pants Down For Peace, Plop and Posterity!

Sci-fi writers can invent anything they want and not have to explain it, driving people crazy.

Mission accomplished in this case.

My pet peeve isn't on there. I hate red eyes. Just annoying as hell. You need to see what you've done for health reasons. You don't have to linger or take a picture of it, but just that quick glance before wiping can help you avoid problems sometimes.

Anyhoo, the fickle red eye takes away your control of one of your most intimate rituals, and it's just not right.

On a recent business trip a few days ago, I stopped at an interstate rest stop and walked into the mens' room to do #2. An older man was leaning up against the wall staring straight ahead at one of the two closed stalls. The other one was not occupied, and the door was open.

I jumped to the wrong conclusion, thinking he was waiting for the closed stall to open up and that something must be wrong with the other one. I even asked: "Is something wrong with that one?" as I passed.

"No," he replied, pointing to the closed stall. "I'm waiting for my granddaughter in there."

At which point, I shrugged, took the unused stall and proceeded to relieve myself. I did not see how old this granddaughter was because she finished long before I did. I did overhear her grandfather say, "Let's wash hands."

I assume this was a very small child whom he did not trust to go to the womens' bathroom by herself. And I guarantee you that the security guard outside would have come running if he had attempted to accompany her to the ladies' room.

We've discussed this issue before: who takes whom to which bathroom when children are very small. It's an interesting quandary, and there's no one right solution every time.

I think the grandfather handled it the right way.

Jared was at least a three-hundred fifty pounder before he lost all that weight on Subway subs. So, yes, he probably has some major saggage (yes, I know that's not a word!) to deal with. I'm told you can have extra skin removed and tighten yourself up.

Ummm, that's creepy in itself.

The other day, while my companion and I were out running errands, we came back home to find some ideal wiping material wedged in the crack of our door. It was one of those tracts about going to hell left by Jehovah's Witnesses.

However, I did not want to insult my brown winkie by exposing it to such incorrigible shit.

Tom Cruise Endows Infant Meconium Society

Rhett farts; Scarlett gets the vapors.

'The Unflushables:' wasn't that a TV series starring Elliot Mess?

William F. Buckley asked me to pass this along to you (regarding expressions of disdain and intellectual seriousness simultaneously):

Ummm, I would deign to say that the enmity I feel-luh for those who misappropriate their idiosyncratic-kuh reactions to the indelicacies of body functions-suh do not dissuade me one iota-uh from my predilection-nuh to ramble obsessively among tangential points of order-ruh, which may or may not have been proposed-duh as a prerequisite for a modicum of respectability amidst the quagmire of prejudicial-luh observations which accrue of necessity not only to the body politic-kuh, but the general population, as it may be termed-duh, when approaching scatological issues which unfortunately have long been designated-duh as wholly unfit for public consumption-nuh, and I do not mean that literally, of course, but in that intellectual sense in which I plunge with the zealotry-uh of a fundamentalist tent revivalist who has had his Hires Root Beer laced with a soupcon of hallucinogenic material, whose origin-nuh will forever remain arcane and ultimately-uh undiscernible. Thank you-uh.

This just in from the Tom Cruise Press Release Machine: "Hello, universe! It's me again! Guess what? I peed last night. It was asparagus pee. My latest wife farted. Did you know women farted? I didn't. Isn't that great? Also: my baby threw-up. It was fantastic! I was jumping up and down on my couch while watching Oprah while my wife cleaned up the vomit. Isn't that terrific? Can I have an Oscar, please?"

At the rate some people are going in this thread, Hollywood is missing a bet by not producing a sci-fi/horror film in which a giant penis stalks the general population. It is first discovered hanging out at urinals.

Butt-led water, perhaps?

Nicely-put, daph. 'Everything that happens is
forever.'

At that age, time crawls along like a glacier. There's a gulf the size of the Grand Canyon between students just a grade apart. Twenty-one seems old. Thirty seems ancient. People forty and over should be dead.

And inopportune farts and poops feel like shots heard 'round the world.

Hu Flung and Dumpster: I am reminded here of the Masai Tribe in Africa. I don't believe I'm misspeaking when I say that they use cow dung to groom their hair. Of course, the odor emanating from that is horrific. Outsiders naturally recoil.

On the other hand, the Masai retch when they smell the soaps and perfumes of Westerners who visit them. So, in this equation, gross is defined by the nostrils culturally.

Heh. To return to the line in the story, Dumpster, that resonates similarly to your literary allusions: 'there was an eerie, Anne Frank quality' to my three months holed up in that room.

I was reminded of anecdotal material I've since read about Anne Frank and the rest of the hidden that the single most difficult aspect of their confinement was farting and the odors emanating therefrom.

Nice post, Dumpster.

This gives a literal meaning to the concept of carrying your load around with a backpack.

I actually thought CEP's comment was funny. It was all in the 'deliverance,' you see.

Uh, that should be commode-ity, not commodity.

I think this is an example of political correctness spinning totally out of control, which, in my opinion, is practically its nature anyway. I'll repeat this because it makes so much sense: a number of single user bathrooms across the Harvard campus should take care of this situation. No one is ever subject to ridicule in such facilities.

Period. The rest of this is just a bunch of loud, politically-correct noise.

I think the manufacturers of ass gaskets and lobster bibs should get together and market a hybrid that could go either way, catching either ass drippings or butter drippings.

Anyone for seafood?

This just in from Miss Manners: "Miss Manners finds the discussion of tasting parts of the female anatomy to be totally impolite and demands that it cease at once. Furthermore, she wishes to remind everyone that those who are truly getting some do not have to talk about it. How can they? Their mouths are full, so to speak."

This just in from June Cleaver: Hello, Poop Report! I would like to say that Wally and the Beav were very, very bad boys when they were little. Once, the Beav pooped on my string of pearls, which I had inadvertently left on the bathroom counter whilst cleaning it to within an inch of its spotless life.

For this trangression, the Beav was not allowed to have dessert for a month. I also had my pearls professionally cleaned and took it out of the Beav's allowance.

Thank you all for listening. I must now go clean my dentures!

In response to The Dumpster's comment above: the site has long ago left behind the single-minded concept that it is primarily devoted to humor. Humor remains an important part of the dialogue here, but it is not a requirement for a particular discussion.

Having said that, I am not particularly comfortable with the entire concept of turd terrorism, retaliation or any variant. In short, I don't think bodily wastes should be used as weapons. (Unless it's in self-defense, such as a woman on the verge of being raped. Peeing and pooping under such circumstances can often discourage the attacker.)

A List Of Little-Known Patron Saints:

St. Elsewhere (lost objects)

St. Urgencia (frequent peeing)

St. Cristo-Ball Colon (little balls of shit)

St. Immaculata (floor wax)

St. Crispus (burned toast)

St. Ohmigod (mall girls)

St. Elastica (girdles and pantyhose)

St. Glovus Sensitiva (condoms)

St. Paius Minimus (credit cards)

St. Cubicleus Verbosa (office gossip)

St. Clickus Addictus (PR devotees)

How very John Derek of you, Dave-O!

Since I believe this poll to be a bit tongue-in-cheek, I voted for none of the above. Unbeknownst to the rest of you, I actually have perfected the art of turning cartwheels while pooping. The downside is that it's difficult to detect which end is up.

This reminds me of the development we lived in growing up that had an enormous sewer outfall into a nearby creek. My brother and I went exploring once when the development was very new and found the pipe that spewed the neighborhood's dining aftermaths onto a large concrete shelf that was right next to the flowing creek.

We stood on a bank overlooking it, and we saw three or four little mounds of TP and poop that had gotten temporarily caught up on the concrete shelf. We knew eventually they would be washed away, but I remember turning to my brother and saying: "I wonder whose craps those are?"

They could have been anyone's. Ours. Our parents. Our neighbors. Boys and girls our age we knew and played with. Their parents.

Heh. Poop. The great equalizer.

BTW, well-written story.

1) Ease of cleaning is one consideration, at least from the standpoint of partition heights (the seeing feet issue). Janitors need to get their mops all around the floor surfaces to keep gunk from accumulating.

2)There is also the matter of ventilating the area. Solid, phone booth-like structures are more difficult to air out and are more susceptible to mold and mildew.

3)I have seen stalls without cracks, and the engineering involves adding more stainless steel. I can tell you from considering stainless steel facilities in the new house I'm building that they are very expensive. The more you use, the more it costs. Cracks may be more a matter of cost-saving measures than anything else.

4)And then there's this: it's a bit more difficult to engage in any sort of untoward behavior (such as drug use and public masturbation) behind less-than-airtight compartments. One morbid thought: if someone, God forbid, should die inside a down to the floor partition with no cracks, it would be more difficult to detect.

My gut feeling on all of this is that most public facilities are designed to make it easier to clean them. Making small concessions to privacy (which would probably bother only the chronically Shameful) seems reasonable to me.

Dumpster, you are spending way too much time with the Victoria's Secret catalog!

Dear, a country girl: I published your comment above about 'gay equality' to illustrate several points.

First of all, Poop Report is not a sanctuary for people who want to impose their religious beliefs on others. It is a clearinghouse for those who want to discuss the equalizing effects of going to the bathroom. The humorous and intellectual fallout from such discussions is designed to bring people together, not emphasize their legitimate differences.

Secondly, the poster who interjected the gender question in this poll was answered respectfully and thoughtfully by the originator of the poll--AB2K. To the extent that the poster seemed a bit contentious, she went the extra mile and expanded the focus of the poll with her comments in a non-judgmental way.

Thirdly, I do not wear panties. I wear boxers.

PR is not a church pulpit. If you come here, don't expect your particular denominational views to be reflected or supported. In general, religion and politics are dividers.

Poop is the great equalizer.

Everyone knows that women do not shit or fart. They do little pink powderpuffs out of their rear-ends, along with delicate, fleecy clouds of perfumed air that fly out like angels on wings--accompanied by harp music.

Poop Shooter--I'm gonna have to give you a hard time and ask you about that upchicking machine of yours. Uh, exactly how far up do your chicks go? Or is it down?

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Poop, poop, the marvelous goop,
It's always around, never out of the loop,
We can do it alone, sometimes in a group,
It can be very solid or even a soup,
Or something between them, so what's the big whoop?

Poop, poop, we squat and we stoop,
And we sit on the pot and we sag and we droop,
While our pets keep us wieldin' the ole pooperscoop,
There's a lot left to say, always somethin' to scoop,
When you're here on PR and the subject is poop.

THE (REAR) END

This termination of comments by mods has got to sto

Didn't you know? I've changed my pen name to Edgar Allen Poo so I can promote my latest novel, "The Fall Of The Outhouse Of Flusher."

The closest option you had was neither poo nor pee, etc. But here's a little poem detailing what I'd do:

If on a clogged-up pot I'd stumble,
T'would take a lot to make me rumble,
For neither pee nor poop I'd give,
Such foulness gets me where I live;
Instead, I'd quickly go in search
Of some more pristine potty perch,
And I'd not stop until I'd spied
A place to grunt and plop with pride;
I'd feel no loyalty to a clog,
I'd never think to add my log,
Or even just to add my pee,
That's not the sort of scene for me;
All told, I'm sure I'd walk away,
And that is what I have to say.

Uh, Sam, that would have been the degree in B.M.S.

The kudos for The Dumpster remind me of something I've been meaning to post somewhere on the site. Awhile back, I put up a post over on the Forums that we guys needed some fresh blood to hang with the ladies, who are more than well-represented on the site by such stall-farts (no offense intended, ladies!) as AB2K, daph, Di, TSV, wonderpance and so many others.

Way to go, guys--I'm referring now to The Dumpster, Bunga Din and Bilgepump--who've bolstered our numbers and output substantially and substantively in recent months. (I would say input, but that's not the PR Way, ya know?)

It's always great when both genders contribute their unique points of view.

This is an even better read the second time. All too infrequently, someone with that special PR touch appears on the horizon, and The Dumpster definitely qualifies. If I'm not mistaken, I believe this story appeared as a comment under another story on the Front Page, and I recommended to The Dumpster that he not waste such talent on responses and give Dave-O a shot at showcasing him on center stage.

The Dumpster is at once the freshest and most prolific presence we've had on here in a long time.

Keep it up, O Fellow Southerner!

Well, Sam, my guess would be that he mummy-wrapped that sucker with the TP, as he hinted at. But there's one fellow I wouldn't have cared to shake hands with on the way out the door. He would certainly have had to handle some of it in the 'gift-wrapping' process, and that kind of stink hangs around for awhile.

I'm not sure this is covered in Shit Disposal 101, but these ought to be principles: 1) always look out the window before you throw a turd away and 2)gardens do need fertilizing, but not like that.

Offhand, I'd say Brown definitely deserved to be benched.

Some newbies may not know this, but AB2K was the first pooper to respond to my first post and welcome me when I officially came aboard in March of 2003. She quickly became my friend and confidante, and she supplied me with much inside info on the workings and dynamics of the site.

She is definitely the Queen of the Archives, as well as a consistent and lively poster in her own right. Thanks for always being there for me, AB2K, and for always being there for PR as well!

As for PR'er Of The Year, 2005, my vote goes to the ubiquitous daphne for the reasons I stated when I nominated her. Since I'm a wordsmith by profession, I also enjoyed Pill Pooper's entertaining Front Page contributions immensely, making this a very tough choice for me. No doubt others will weigh in on our candidates.

But ain't it nice to have this much talent on one site?

There are some people who can quit smoking and drinking on their own. My father quit smoking cold turkey after nearly thirty years.

But there are definitely people who do anything better--whether it's lose weight, learn a job skill, or quit any type of addiction--in a group. They need the reinforcement that comes from being guided, and the psychological perks that come from attaining certain mile markers on the journey to their goals.

To each his own. I thought Bunga handled the account of his rehab experience with humor and grace.

Kameron lobbed a softball to counter, as far as I'm concerned. The site is about so much more than poop.

Where to begin? It's about understanding bodily functions and the role they play in human behavior, particularly ongoing daily mental and psychological health.

It's about encouraging a humorous attitude towards a part of life that is as essential as eating and breathing. Helping others overcome their hangups in regard to certain elimination issues. Learning to cut themselves some slack instead of viewing themselves shamefully. Entertaining themselves and others with stories and comics designed to promote empathy, recognition and open discussion of personal bathroom experiences without veering into fetishistic obsession.

PR is all of this and more. As I said, Kameron threw a softball. Easy to hit out of the ball park. Kameron is not a player and has no idea what he is missing.

MC: your thoughtful, well-reasoned essay should make all of us who enjoy PR pause a moment. Think about this. Although we have our disagreements on this site from time to time, I do think it is safe to say the the vast majority of us who have joined are interested in shitting, the process, and shit, the substance. I have made no bones about my interest in both and have admitted openly that I enjoy discussing it with others. I find taking a good shit exhilirating. I have enjoyed others watching me. I have enjoyed watching them. Others on this site have expressed the humor, joy, unadulterated relief and, yes, even companionship, they have found in going to the bathroom in the presence of friends and family. Some, of course, are more shameful about this important aspect of life, but they, too, come here to express themselves and, I believe, to try to find support for their emotional outlook on something they will be doing until their last day on earth.

So, for a Poop Nazi to start making interest in shit (or scat) or whatever you want to call it, something on the order of a Carrie Nation Campaign is a bit unsettling, to say the least. There are, of course, tapes available of men shitting as well. All sorts of sites exist on the Internet catering to people of both genders who are drawn to others relieving themselves in all combinations. There is no reason for any of us who enjoy PR to take the position that this is all that far-removed from our interests here. It is, in fact, a matter of degree, and there is no reason to be the least bit ashamed of our interests anyway. But no one is ever forced to go to these sites and patronize their products. As long as this type of commerce is

voluntary and age restrictions are respected, this truly falls into the 'victimless crime' arena.

Let's be really frank with each other here. I know that I have shared some pretty frank (and totally truthful, BTW) personal experiences with all of you. Many of you have done the same. We all know that we can't just blurt out a lot of the stuff we talk about on here at a cocktail party. We have to pick and choose our friends and our spots to enlighten, so to speak. Just yesterday, I got in the mail my Ass Phlegm tee shirt with the 10 Stages Of Pooping on the front. I do intend to wear it around the small Southern town of Tupelo, Mississippi (yeah, Elvis was born there and, as many of you know, died on the pot in Memphis--thangyouverramuch). It will be interesting to me to see what kind of reaction I get, if any, from the average Joe or Jane.

Bottom line here, though, is that interest in shit is and of itself is not prurient, whether it is connected to women or men doing it on tape or some other concept. I happen to believe that sexuality is a very complicated and amazing thing among us humans. The Poop Nazis of the world want to label all activity, categorize it and pigeon-hole it, reluctantly approving only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all that is humanly possible among us.

I can guarantee you that there are some moral posturers out there who would shut down PR in a minute if they knew it existed. In fact, I believe they might even view it as a bigger threat to their world/religious view than sites selling tapes of men and women shitting and/or masturbating while doing it.

They might see, as well they should, that a site and a movement (pun intended) like PR has the beneficial effect of bringing the entire subject of pooping out of the closet and into the mainstream. Hey, so many people want to be more relaxed and open about their bathroom habits, but there are so many strains (again, pun intended) in our culture, which does have a Puritannical heritage right up-front, that work against that.

Poopers--keep on pooping and bringing your stories here. Let's be proud of one another and ourselves. And thanks, mastercrapper, for an eloquent expression of an issue which should be important to us all.

Peace and Plop! TBW

This has never happened to me, but it almost has. Some restaurants have very 'cutesy' gender identity signs on their restrooms. Theme restaurants, especially. And you sometimes have to think a bit before you decide which one to go into. I can't remember now what the signs for this particular restaurants were, but I remember taking a waiter aside and out of the side of my mouth saying: "That is the men's room, isn't it?"

Men and Women, Ladies and Gentlemen will do nicely, please. No 'Fajitas' and 'Tostadas' signs in Mexican restaurants or 'Tadpoles' and 'Minnows' Yes, I do recall those particular ones along the way!

I think personal comments regarding site member spouses and significant others should be off limits. Neither Will nor I appreciated the flippancy of Logjam's remark. I would not dream of taking such liberties concerning the spouses of other site members, particularly those I don't know very well at all.