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Please feel free to email me some of your own rectal triumphs and fecal feats for inclusion on this site. I may even post you as a “guest logger” if they’re sick enough.

The Devil Made Me Doo Doo!

Sunday afternoon I was watching another ho-hum Eagles game as they looked to pummel the hapless Cowboys – who used to be a great rival, but suck so bad right now that it’s not even fun anymore. I couldn’t even motivate myself to drink.

Then TO got his leg bent backwards.

I went to the fridge and grabbed a tasty Hop Devil – the finest Indian Pale Ale in the country (sorry, Sierra Nevada. It’s true). The problem with Hop Devil is that it’s so tasty and so strong, but always leads to the same results:

POSITIVE RESULT – My taste buds are satisfied and I am smashed.
NEGATIVE RESULT – My bowels are not satisfied and I have to take a smash.

But it’s no ordinary smashing sensation. Every time I drink 3 or more of these things, I have awful gas for the next 10 hours or so. And I don’t mean that it’s just a little smelly…

Basically, I have to release some fumes every 10 minutes or so. But it’s no easy chore. In essence, the Hop Devil makes my ass turn into Saddam Hussein – you never know if it’s gonna drop a bomb or just release some poisonous gas.

So, I tried to release it harmfully into the atmosphere a few times; other times I just went to the bathroom. But after the thunderous release, there would be merely one little brown ball at the bottom of the bowl. Fin!

Let’s just say that this event repeated itself enough times throughout the rest of the evening that I could have added some milk, grabbed a spoon, and gone “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” had I decided to let these pebbles accumulate instead of express delivering them Poo-P-S to the sewer.

What a terrific new breakfast idea! People are always eating nasty cereals anyway, like all that Raisin Bran and other fibery stuff to help them go. Why not just eat the bran in its most wholesome form? Let’s make it happen! Soon all the elderly will be going “Ca-ca for Cocoa Poops!”

[Why will this work, you ask? Well, out of a survey of people who consume human feces, 9 out of 10 said they are interested in this product.

NOTE: The other 10% prefers its feces in either protein shakes or as a drizzle on top of ice cream.]

Hanu-Ca Ca

It was the 6th day of Hanukkah – the “Festival of Lights”. Most people use a lighter to light the Hanukkah candles these days; we just grab the matches from the bathroom.
The miracle of Hanukkah is that the Jews only had enough oil to keep the Temple lit for 1 day, but it miraculously lasted 8. The miracle of my special Hanukkah dinner on Sunday was that there was only enough room in my intestines for it to stay for one day, but it miraculously lasted for 3!

You would think that piling sour cream and applesauce on my latkes (potato pancakes) would ensure that this holiday meal would only be residing inside of me for a very short time. After all, sour cream is essentially just some very tasty bacteria, and applesauce has lots of fiber and requires little digestion.

But apparently these flavorful toppings didn’t see the checkout time and were forcing me to take in more patrons (as in 2 more days worth of meals) despite the “No Vacancy” sign hanging on my stomach.

Finally, it hit me Tuesday night – ironically, on the final night of Hanukkah – like a ton of bricks. I ran to the upstairs restroom and launched something into the toilet that had a consistency closer to the oil that was found in the Temple than the bricks used to build it – except that it was brown and probably much smellier.

In fact, I had so little time to prepare this poop that I inadvertently left the bathroom door wide open, while the wife was ironing my pants a mere 10 feet away! The odor was so pungent, she had to stop ironing and run downstairs to escape its wretched fumes.

She came back up 5 minutes later and closed the bathroom door, but the hollow oak was no match for my Hanu-ca ca! The whole bedroom stunk and there was no way to stop it.

I am wearing the same pants she was ironing right now! I must say that while they look sharp and wrinkle-free, I really wish people would stop coming up to me and asking me if someone took a dump in my office!

GUEST LOGGER

Steve Jeltz e-mailed in this ge[r]m...
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Recently being relegated to a dreaful life of obscenely early mornings, my coffee intake has increased exponentially. This morning I arose for work at 3:30 a.m. and hit the Dunkin Donuts for a yummy Cinnamon stick and XL coffee (extra cream, extra sugar). In a procedure which I wasn't even aware took place, while I was sleeping a skilled surgeon re-routed my esophagus directly to my anus bypassing any intestines normally necessary for digestion. As I sat down at my desk, I could feel the familiar grumblings of an angry, vengeful rectum. Being unfamiliar with my new surroundings, I have not yet found a blissful camode which I can paint with my sweet, aromatic brown paint. I headed to the 2nd floor of the lovely Pennsylvania Convention Center where yesterday I laid waste to the Handicrap stall. In an engineering mishap, someone placed the toilet paper dispenser too low and close to the leg, so I am forced to sit almost side-saddle on this uncomfortable shitter and release my little brown soldiers. If I were Linda McCartney, this duty would have been magnificent...but I digress... The moment my pale white bottom touched that seat I knew a battle was about to commence. I braced myself like an airplane crash victim and closed my eyes. A non-stop jettison of liver, lungs and spleen came rocketing out of my duty canal. I was shocked because, at this moment, I discovered I was pregnant and this child would not wait. I reared back, held my sideways legs in the air and pushed my new butt-baby out as hard as I could. Upon conclusion I leaned forward and stared into the bowl searching for my new kin. Imagine my horror and dissappointment while I looked down and instead of a son, I had dropped a disentigrated placenta and a gallon of afterbirth. If I had crapped out a rusty coat hangar, it all would have made so much more sense. Being disgusted by my findings, I flushed lil' Connor Pooperson down the drain and buckled up my pants praying that our current administration will not arrest me for murder. My butt-baby is dead. Praise Jesus as he will now be forever immortalized in this sacred blog. Farewell Connor Pooperson, much like in real life, your watery grave shall remain a special place.

Solidity : 0
Color : 1 (Burnt Placenta/coffee grinds)
Facilities : -7
Satisfaction : -10 (i miss my baby)
Smell : 0

Overall : -16

I once got raped in prison by a Log with the Hi-5 and consider that a far more pleasant experience. Always remember 'Lil Connor Pooperson. :(

National Treasure

PHILADELPHIA, December 3, 2004 - On Friday, I ended up going out to dinner and a movie w/ the wife and another couple. The dinner was pleasant – some fish and some very pale ales. The desert, however, was creamy, milky, and heavy. Probably some ice cream in there too. The crème broulee was too thick. Hell, it tasted like they just came and put a blowtorch to a bowl of Jell-o instant pudding.

So then I was perfectly comfortable as I eased into the seat for the movie National Treasure – another one of those where Nick Cage manages to do something incredibly awesome despite the fact that he is noticeably retarded. I was about 3 quarters through the movie, and then it hit me…

I never leave movies to go to the crapper. I don’t even have to take leaks. But this time I didn’t think I could make it. I squirmed in my seat and hoped the movement would pass. It did – but then it came back! I had already made the decision to fight this to the bitter end. Besides, I couldn’t leave now or else I’d never find out where the National Treasure was and what it was.

So I shifted my belt one notch looser, hoping that would prevent it from squeezing my intestines and forcing a pre-mature brown birth from the breech position. Another movement hit, and I undid the button at the top of my pants.

I survived till the end of the movie. When I stood up, I don’t even know how my pants stayed around my waist since there was nothing keeping them there. If anyone had seen how sloppily my pants looked barely hanging on at that point, they’d have assumed that I just came back from getting my dick sucked by a crackhead [in exchange for some crack, of course].

We left the theater and I excused my self to the men’s room. 3 short, wet bursts and my bowels were at ease.
If anyone wants to see the National Treasure for himself, you should go to the Riverview Theater on Deleware Avenue and check the handicap stall in the men’s room. You’ll recognize it because it is light-brown, mushy, partially afloat, and has the distinguishable odor of my ass.

A Sloppy Success!

December 1, 2004

I had a great idea last night! I would have the fellas come over for a Pinochle game, and make everyone sloppy joes! I thought, "what could possibly pass through my system more easily than something that looks the same going in as it does coming out?"

Then I had a better idea! I would drink Budweiser all night while playing cards. The intended result was that I would work up a good buzz before bed so that I could jerk off and pass out. Great success!

When I first woke up, my flatulence kept me from falling back asleep. So I let a few SBV’s rip, then managed to catch a few more Zzzz’s as I the warmth of my stink fumes cozied me back into a slumber.

I took a sobering shower, and then threw on some boxers and socks. But I soon realized there wasn’t enough time to select pants if I wanted to wear these boxers to work! I bolted back to the bathroom and dropped off the load.

Two warm logs gently flowed from my small intestines. The first was a normal thickness, and the second was a lean doody-strand of equal length. The two logs lying side by side at the bottom of the bowl reminded me of an “I-slot” football formation, with the logs representing wide receivers Terrell Owens (first log) and Todd Pinkston (lean log) lined up very closely on the same side of the field, and the slot representing my hairy crack from whence they came.

I made it to work without further incident, but as I was standing at my desk about to turn on the computer, the huge ball of gas hit my gut and caused me to panic. I didn’t know if I could unleash the smokestack without the lava flowing right behind it. I bolted to the restroom and unleashed all the fury of Mount Saint Colon in the middle stall.

It looked just like the sloppy joe from the night before, in all its splattery, sloppy glory. Great sloppy success!