My Shitty

If you are a Poopreporter who has children or who babysits, or you are as easily entertained by cute sounds and colors as I am, then you will love today’s Fun With Feces submission. Jocelyn from Poopeegames.com, a bilingual website for children, contacted us recently about a flash game that she created for her own children, who seem to be budding Poopreporters. The Poop Machine is one of a a few games and interactive pages that lets kids have fun while learning a bit about their digestive tracts. One page lets children burp songs, and another encourages children to use hand-eye coordination skills… to make a little colored blob barf. The site has been developed to keep the attention of children not only through interactive games and colorful and appealing illustration, but also with sound. Every time I clicked on a link or activated a flash function something cute popped out of my laptop’s speakers, to my delight as well as that of our Boston Terrier’s.

The goal of the Poop Machine seems to be to teach children to eat balanced meals. By either choosing an English or French machine, the participant is taken to a screen where there are various foods from which to choose three. The child (or eternally young Poopreporter) can move the cursor over foods like cherries, MacDonald’s French Fries, soda pop, candy, prune juice, or rice, and a screen pops up that discusses the efect this particular food has on the digestive tract. I chose cherries, prune juice, and chocolate on purpose, and sure enough I was rewarded with the runs. Then, I chose three starches and voila! Brick turds! The sounds were hysterical, and the site mascot, a severely strabismic piece of poop that dances around and gives directions to all the games, is completely endearing.

If you’ve got a few minutes, I encourage you to visit the site and see what types of poop humor are available for kids these days. I spent half an hour easily trying to bounce an infectious molecule into someone’s digestive tract, combining weird foods, and making someone barf. Ain’t the internet great?

Poop Report

If anyone has done any traveling in Europe, especially Germany, that person will discover a dearth of toilet paper in any of the public Sheist-Haases. So during my stay in Germany, I got into the habit of just flushing a few times and then reaching down into the bowl to scoop up some fresh water. I would bathe my rectum and portions of my ass that were fecal-encrusted.

This sounds gross; however, the bacteria count in a recently flushed toilet is considerably lower than that one would be found in the basin of a sink. Beside, the alternative would have been to not wipe (remember, no toilet paper) and to just drip-dry.

This method served me well for the months I spent in Germany. That is, until one nightmarish night — a night of drinking cheap German beer and eating cheap German sausages. Toward the end of the evening, mounting pressure in my lower abdomen told me it was time to perform a rectal discharge. No problem. I trotted to the bathroom in the bar, executed the operation, and started slathering up my buttocks to get rid of the evidence.

The discharge had been vicious, violent, and vociferous, so the regions included in the “combat zone” included not just my rectum but also my entire buttocks, thanks to the blow-back from the toilet.

Side note: Have you ever noticed that the more civilized one’s feces are, the more accepting your toilet is? A small, solidly formed turdlet is lovingly embraced, but it’s almost as if that same toilet will fight back when you try to spray your guts into it in the most vile fashion; usually, both parties walk away from the experience quite battle worn.

Back to my tale. It took many scoops of water to cleanse my body. In fact, due to the rather large contaminated area of my buttocks, the clean up process took almost as long as it did to poop.

Finished, I stood up, pulled up my pants over my still damp buttocks and turned around to give one last flush… and here’s where the story gets a bit wanky. To my horror, I discovered that in my drunken stupor, I had forgotten the intermediary flushes and had been bathing with my own raw filth! To give you an idea of what we’re dealing with, imagine if cottage cheese came in a pea soup-color. Water it down a bit, and that’s what was staring up at me from the toilet. And to think I had been scooping up handful after handful of this noxious concoction and slathering it all over my ass.

This had been one of my last few nights in Germany. I had to cut the party short, and sadly, this is one of the most potent memories I have of my visit.

Poop Report

A couple of years ago, my current girlfriend and I started dating. We were getting comfortable with each other; I had no problem ripping big ones around her. I liked to believe I was training her to appreciate my farts, since she did not share a love toilet humor with me — yet.

We started dating at a time when I was drinking a good amount of beer on a regular basis, beer that was providing me with ample enough butt pressure to rip the big ones. Despite my girlfriends objections, I seemed to be winning the fart war, having gained the right to rip almost anytime and anywhere in her presence.

On this one particular evening we were watching TV while laying down on the bed. I had imbibed a couple of beers and was feeling warm and content when a familiar feeling of a fart started creeping down the barrel of my howitzer. This was nothing unusual, so I slightly spread my legs and braced for the recoil.

The fart seemed to hesitate, however. I pushed a little to ease it out of the firing chamber, and it relented. But it did not exit alone. Along with the fart shot out a jet of smelly hot brown substance! I bolted from the bed and ran for the bathroom, startling my girlfriend.

I heard her from the bathroom. “Oh My God!”

When I opened the door my girlfriend was changing the bed sheets, because the fart had pushed the stream of brown liquid right through my boxers and jeans and onto her bed. I just stared in disbelief.

I’m really happy she did not dump me after that “dump” I took on her bed.

Poop Report

Let’s adopt the turd as the official American unit of mass. Right now Europeans are bitching and whining because we do not use the International System of Units (or the S.I. system). However, the average American thinks the S.I. system is gay, and refuses to give up their rights to a nonsensical measuring system to some snooty, big-headed arrogant European (no matter how snazzy he is dressed).

We refuse even though it is sometimes hard to convert pounds to ounces, and then to pints. I say let’s meet them half way.

The average U.S. turd weighs 2.2 pounds. That is exactly one kilogram. By adapting the turd as the unit mass/weight, we will have standardized the unit of mass with something every American understands and can appreciate. Also unlike the kilogram, the standard is not kept under some glass jar in France; it is kept right in your toilet for safe keeping.

Conversions will be easy, because like the European system it will be based on a base ten system. Thus we will have centiturds, milliturds, kiloturds, and megaturds. This will provide endless amusement to children everywhere (and a few adults). This system may seem silly, but the British still use stones, which equal fourteen pounds, as a unit of mass. Surely if they can be weighed in stones, we can be weighed in turds. So I weigh 102 turds. Tonight after I go to the bathroom, I will weigh only 101 turds. See, even dieting is easier with my system. So please tell all your friends. Announce it on Facebook. Let’s get the ball rolling.

Editor’s note: The amount of poop a person will poop during a day is actually debated and not set in stone. According to some doctors, the average amount of poop a person puts out daily is estimated to be one ounce for every twelve pounds of body weight. Someone who weighs 200 pounds, then, will poop about a pound a day.

If anyone has any credible links to other daily poop estimates for Americans, please let us know. I specify Americans because Indians are said to poop more, and the British are said to poop less.

Poop Report

A bit about myself: I enjoy the challenge of a big crap. I was a university student with the Royal Navy attached to one of the University Royal Navy Units.

A bit about the ship: It is 68 feet long, and all three toilets are pumped with a macerator.

My story took place on a very rough overnight passage that was 22 hours long. In a P2000 it is indeed a very long single leg passage, as it traveled at 11knots per hour. Do the math. It was a very rough night, and speed had been cut down to make travel as smooth as possible in the floating fiberglass caravan we called a home. I had spent the rest of the year at university subsisting on curries – vindaloo, to be exact. While on board this tiny little ship we were served really good homemade food due to the low number of personnel. Because of my previous diet I had been severely backed up. In an average day we would eat about 10,000 calories just to keep awake because of the workload, so after three weeks of good food I wasn’t used to I soon found myself severely constipated. In fact, my waist line had increased in size.

Coffee gives me the shits, and because of that I don’t usually drink it; but because of this overnight passage I drank coffee to keep awake and alert. When I was taken off watch at three a.m. the weather was rough. The bow was rising and falling with a great WHAM every ten seconds at roughly five to ten meters, and this actually made me free float. This and the fact that the students’ bunks were at the front of the ship left me feeling as if I was in a never-ending roller coaster ride.

At four a.m., an hour into my three-hour rest, I felt the feeling that no human wants to experience and rushing into the junior rates heads (crapper to the landlubber). I plunked my ass down onto the tiny electric pump yacht throne, making a nice, tight seal. I’m a tall bloke, and my knees rise above my hips which when taking a dump. While this is never comfortable, this time I had no trouble. With all that coffee I had been drinking throughout the night, I exploded, almost lifting off the toilet with the force.

Now, these toilets have no water in the bowel – sea water gets pumped in to aid evacuation; and on this occasion, the air conditioning was broken. There was also no fan in the head because it was broken, and so the room was sealed; there was no airflow. The ship is designed for cold waters, so it is insulated better than an Eskimo millionaire’s penthouse, and we were in hot European water during the summer. Because of these facts, I was sweating before I even felt the urge.

I was in there for a long time, and I was sweating more than a sumo in a sauna, so I stripped my shirt off. With my trousers between my legs, I was basically nude. After 30 minutes it was all over. The heat was unbearable, my ass hurt, and I was exhausted from having to hold onto the hand rails, lest I launch through the air in the rough seas. I was only after I finished and was almost out of the vile sweatbox when I realized there was no toilet roll.

Looking around I found the blue roll – an industrial strength absorbent which is also very strong. Used in hospitals, factories and the forces, it is the lifeline of the navy… and it also blocks the macerator. A macerator is an electronic set of teeth that munch your toilet roll and crap, but the blue roll can clog it and create a vacuum. No, I wiped and flooded the bowl to the rim, hoping it wouldn’t clog and thankful that it didn’t.

After washing up and wiping of my seat, I stepped out. I looked about and everybody was asleep, so I escaped my embarrassing experience scott free. Feeling like a Dyson had been stuck up my brown hole, I was exhausted and drained; this helped me get the best two hours sleep of my life.

Waking up and swapping watches, I was given the helm to steer the ship. Everything was going great for an hour – the weather had died down, the sun was rising, and everybody was cheering up – then I heard the sharpest scream on earth. My ears split, and so did those of everyone else who was on watch. The duty engineer ran down below and rushed back up again gagging. The blue roll had created a void, and when the suction commenced the void increased, creating a vacuum. And it was this vacuum that created a back surge. A couple day’s worth of brown dumplings spewed out of the bowl like Mt. St. Helen’s and covered the duty engineer – a poor young woman – in shit. In fact, shit coated her and the small cupboard-like room. The smell was so overpowering that we had to turn on the emergency extraction and open the escape hatch. I kept silent and escaped all repercussion. She, however, left the next day. Flew home and was never heard of again. And the engineers were less than happy with the mess.

Poop Report