If you like reading about pooping then you are in the correct place. If bowel movements frighten you then you’re a wimp and should go away for a little while. I hate taking a poo in public. By public I don’t mean next to a playground slide while everyone is staring at me. I think I could handle that more. At least everybody knows my stance on life, I’m insane. When I say public I mean somewhere a vampire would be allowed to take a poo like a normal person. Did you know vampires are allowed to enter libraries, hospitals, and other public buildings? They don’t need to be invited in like they do a home. I remember this from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Another thing I learned from Buffy, the existence of lesbians!
(Stop hugging and scissor each other already!)
Even further than taking a poo in public, I always had a fear about taking one anywhere outside my home. Each year my dad would take my sister and me to the Poconos in upstate Pennsylvania because he used to murder honeymooners in heart-shaped bath tubs in the mid-90s. This saved him an extra trip. I went an entire week without going poop once. This might seem insane, but the one time I did go the year earlier I clogged the toilet. The place we stayed was owned by my dad’s only friend. He was a very large man with a Brooklyn accent. I would have surely had my face shoved into the toilet once it was discovered my DNA was attached to the terd doing the clogging.
Poop is a word I say way too frequently. My most common daily phrases I have come to realize are “Come on!” and “Jesus Christ!” Between driving and having to walk a dog who tries to eat every pine cone he smells, I have good reason to say these as frequently as I do. I’m not a poop fan. In the last year I have calculated I have picked up approximately 678 clumps of poop. That’s twice a day, every day, minus once a week where I make my sisters do it. If I lived in a country like Germany where the stuff is like gold, I would have a castle by now.
(My German castle bought entirely from dog poo)
The entire time I was in school I only took a poop once while on the clock. I was in first period study hall when my tummy began to grumble. I began to sweat. Somehow I survived the entire period without going. Then second period came. This was my keyboarding class. Luckily the fast typing managed to distract any noises my stomach was making, but still it helped none of the pain. I asked the teacher for a hall pass and made my way toward a bathroom. My high school was so lame they only kept one bathroom open at a time and it changed every hour. This was so kids could not go in there and smoke. This was a major problem. I practically cursed out a fat history teacher asking me where the nearest bathroom was. He pointed. A gay kid was in the bathroom cleaning chocolate off his shirt. I pretended to pee because I didn’t want him going around to the Glee Club saying I’m someone who shits. I walked out then walked back in. Just so he didn’t think I was insane I declared out loud “Wow now I have to shit.” He nodded and I scared him away from men’s assholes for life. You’re welcome Republicans.
(That classmate grew up to become Jonathan Taylor Thomas, the straightest, least questioned to be a homosexual child actor from the 1990s)
I managed to go a long time at my day job without going. I say day job like I have a night job. Like posing as a police officer and asking to search people’s wallets qualifies as a real job. When I got older I cared less about where I let the chips fall. I was mostly ready to let it happen at work. Only once when it was the middle of the day and I knew the bathroom would be crowded and someone was bound to recognize my shoes then report to the highest ranking supervisor they could that I was someone who shits which most assuredly would get me fired did I venture someplace else to cleanse my body of breakfast. I went to the fancy hotel across the street I worked at for a month and was never paid anything I did and left the Mona Lisa of poops in a toilet sitting there for whoever came in next. I call it the Mona Lisa because it was very androgynous.
(I never realized what a giant forehead she had. If you squint and change the hair a bit this could be Ted Danson)
As I grow older my bowels are something I need to be more concerned about. I went to the last baseball game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. My dad made a short scrapbook from the day yet the only thing I can remember is going home and painfully squeezing one out. From that day I swore I would never go more than a day without at least trying to go. Some men swear to take care of their families. Others promise to serve their countries. Me, I do my best to shit once a day.