Shit. Yes, actual shit. Not for the faint of heart

Posted on October 6, 2005


Yesterday I made two pounds of poop. I know this because I weighed myself before and after, and sure enough, lost 2 lbs. some of you may know that this is because I only go once a week, usually Tuesday or Wednesday. This has been going on for a decade. I complain a lot (in published print even) about the baffling North American phenomenon of manual ass cleansing. I mean, seriously, the President of the United States has to use toilet paper (and his own hand) to wipe his ass when countless poor people all over the world have streams of water shooting comfortably at their anuses? Fucked up. It just ain’t right.
I was recently at the Toronto house of an Egyptian friend of mine when I noticed that all the bathrooms of his house had a funky set of colourful complex-looking dials affixed to the seat. I wondered, are they some sort of medical measuring equipment? Seat warmer? It emerged that on landing on Canadian soil 25 years ago, the first thing his parents did was look around for state-of-the-art ass hygiene appliances. Damn right.
It has long been my ambition to establish a bidet importing business when I stop being a lawyer. Every single person I have ever met in law school formulates an alternative career in the first few months of law school, when the assness really becomes apparent. Mine will cater to the excrement needs of Canadians everywhere. Cos it’s time we got clean bums.
Anyway, despite this pet peeve, I don’t actually have as much cause for complaint as normal people do. People wonder, how do I store that much poop inside me for a week? I have two competing theories. Either my rectum has grown to astonishingly large proportions, one day to be featured in medical journals across the world, or else my cells/intestine have mutated into those of herbivores or something, and I’m digesting all my cellulose and other substances that normal humans poop out. (Vote here for your preferred theory!) Both of these guarantee me certain amounts of posthumous fame, so it can be either. Yes, I am relying on bodily freaks of nature to carve me a niche in posterity.
In a further deluge of unnecessary detail, I might as well “confide” that because of the sheer volume of my poop I have to flush at several stages. This is because plumbers all over North York have become conversant with my bowel habits after many visits to my apartment. But as the saying goes – faeces takes place.
On an unrelated topic, today I received the following compliment: “You’re sexier than any hooker.” In good faith too, I believe. No, it’s not “out of context”. Context would not really improve this one, would it?

Posted in: human waste