"Corn sold separately"

I'm knockin' on the bathroom do',
'bout to shit on the flo'.
Brown gravy starts to come runnin' out.
Butt clinched like the turd's gold,
Can't hold long it now that I'm old.
Gut's talkin' to me.
Hot squirts, streamin' out.
Hot squirts, makin' me shout.
Hot squirts, runnin' down my leg.
This shit is runny, (guitar licks dah, dah, dah, dah).

I would stand up, knock on the common wall between the stalls and ask the cell phone user if his phone has a camera feature. A log like mine should be saved digitally for all to see.

The House of WINDS-or, indeed.

Once I had diarrhea from eating alphabet soup. Pat and Vanna, I want to buy a vowel movement.

Alternate title: "I have met the enema, and he is me."

Interview following a bowel movement:"I'd like to thank the Team Penske, Chevy Monte Carlo, Pennzoil, Sunoco, Tide Detergent, Coca-Cola toilet for a smooth handling ride. This was a team effort. I can't thank my pit crew enough. This toilet took what I dished out and came through like a champion."

Dumpster, I like the aside narratives and dialogue in your story. Doxology, adios to shoes and trousers, memoranda to fellow PoopReporters show you have a lawyer's mind. The ability to think through many objections probably put you at the top of this couple's list. Good save.

I think a good title would have been "A Turd Runs Through It".

I guess when a man dies from an enema, you "barium". (rimshot)

"Is that shit Enya?" "Nah, I left it in the bowl."

Honey, come here. Witness this accomplishment.

GottaGoGirl, will do. Thanks for the travel tip.

Although I must warn you, before I got into my TransAm I had this crush on a nurse. First let me tell you of the events leading up to my workplace physical exam:

I was born in a Nashville hospital, 1963. Hold on, this is relevant. Years later I went to this physical wearing shorts and no underwear. But let me tell you of a school lunch back in first grade. I plan on submitting the fourth edition of this story soon... .

Redneck: Music of Hank Williams, Jr. , Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash,...

White Trash: Limp Bizkit

In a small bucket, beneath the bathroon sink, within arm reach. Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory with a candlestick.

You may want to blame the Gatorade. I know days when I jog and drink Gatordade beforehand, my post-jog dumps are more voluminious than usual. Is there magnesium or some kind of stool loosening agent in Gatorade? I would believe it.

As far a "laying cable" goes, a neighborhood dog yesterday dropped what looked like two loads each the size of a grown man's arm. The dog was average, sport retriever size. But the aftermath looked like the circus elephants took a detour on my street.

How to find a local WalMart: get behind old people in their slow car and blinker turned on. The car probably has a "Power of Pride" bumper sticker. If the old man driving is wearing a hat, then he is WalMart bound.

Badger's forst paragraph reminds me of Marcus Meleton's book "Nice Guys Don't Get Laid". It is good to see nice guys catch a break, especially from an understanding woman.

Being of Cherokee descent I often joke about my ancestry. Once I dated a young Jewish woman. We would joke that ifwe married and had a child, the infant's name would be Bargain Hunter.

One night out of sheer boredom I typed "peanut filled turd" into a search engine and Poop Report was among the top sites returned. I gave it a read and this was love at first sight. Many people refer to me as a perpetual 19-year old, although I am 42. The humor here is misunderstood by my friends, but suits me well.

This story is a fake. Women don't fart...or so they claim.