My Fearsome Craps

My Fearsome Craps: Tales of Restroom Destruction

This page will be frequently updated with recollections of the fearsome craps people take in their offices and the discussions that ensue. All are welcome to contribute to the repository of specimen documentation. Examples of specimen description include color, consistency, aroma, intensity, speed, angle of bowl entry, and taste. Enjoy!

As an additional feature to more adequately convey and describe the intensity of smells to our friendly readers, My Fearsome Craps now proudly utilizes the Hobo Power Scale of Bad Smells.

An Infomative Wikipedia Article on Human Feces!

- I just pinched the funniest looking turd in the office bathroom. It started out as a skinny little thing already, over 1 ft. in length, but after the first 8 inches of log, it seemed like my sphincter forgot that there was more coming, so it just started to pinch off, thus extruding the last 6 inches into this skinnier piece of crap that was maybe 3/4 –inch in diameter. It reminded me of the Play-Doh toys I had when I was a child and pretended to be an Eye-talian pasta-making chef with the various shapes of extrusion. I wonder if there is a market for such a product to aid in the rectal formation of fecal matter into amusing shapes and diameters? Is it possible to make a back door canelloni? Gnocchi? Rigatoni?

The crap itself had the consistency of gum, and it was therefore hard to wipe off the soft matter afterwards and it stank of bad dairy – I would say I’ve had far cleaner breakaways. I think this was due to the bad mac and cheese I had for dinner last night. In the future, when I consume bad mac and cheese for dinner, I will make sure to experiment with flexing my sphincter muscles to see if it is possible to construct sculptures through expert bowel control. More on this as progess dictates. --Ubernerd 10:59, 26 May 2006 (EST)

- The last few days I've been plagued with internal distress manifesting itself as fearsome tan squirts of fire. It has no structure to it and shreds in the bowl, and burns like the devil coming out of my butt. Also, it smells really horrible. Like, really, really horrible. -Zahnnie 11:06, 26 May 2006 (EST)

- Over the weekend I had a piece of steak that was cold and purple in the middle, just the way I like it. Good lord that was delicious. Unfortunately the end result of consuming such a delicious portion of meat is the dreaded "steak farts." Those of you who are unfamiliar with steak farts should be aware that they are some of the foulest-smelling, concentrated bursts of stale air bubbles that a colon is capable of. Any of you who have ever been on, or shared restroom space with someone on the Atkins diet (or any other all-protien diet) will have a good idea of the aroma. Think processed wet dog food whipped in a blender with concentrated human feces. That's the gamey smell I am referring to. These steak farts permeated the rest of the weekend with their presence, up until the moment I voided the steak from my bowels in a momentous, sticky, stinky payloaf, punctuated by several escape-and-evade steak farts of an almost bagpipe-resonance.--Ubernerd 08:21, 31 May 2006 (EST)

- I think I gave myself food poisoning last night via my coffeemaker. I knew I should have washed the filter holder more thoroughly. Especially since it had two week old coffee grounds festering in it from when Tom made coffee and cleverly forgot to clean up after himself, as usual. Being the usual lazy shit I am, I merely rinsed the coffee filter holder in really hot water, without antibacterial soap, under the false assumption that hot water would kill enough of the germs. I can tell you now that what followed this morning was surely anything but a lazy shit. I awoke in the middle of the night with horrendous gut-pains of a lower intestinal variety. I began by pinching some wheaty-looking loaves (when had I eaten wheat, I wonder?) and was in the middle of pinching off several more petite little loaves when my carpool arrived. Neatly wiping up I left, only to arrive at the office and spend half an hour painfully voiding my aching bowels of what I had assumed to be the rest of my solid meals from yesterday. However, 15 minutes ago I went to the bathroom experienced perhaps one of the most violent splattering shrapnel-shits I have probably ever experienced. While there was not much matter in the bowl iself upon examining the aftermath, I was horrified to find that I had managed to spray the bowl of the toilet with a substance akin to French's Spicy Brown mustard in a parabolic arc along the inner rim. Throughout these mortar bursts, I could feel and hear a gurgling and shift in my lower abdomen, clearly my intestines at work, loading up each wave of artillery as it exploded from my bunghole with a sickly, suffocated fart originating from deep within. The toilet looked like an apple brown betty, crumbs and all. --Ubernerd 13:30, 6 Jun 2006 (EST)

- So evidently when I get stressed, my bowels misbehave terribly. The last couple days I've been all gnawing-guilt about this one friend of mine, and then on top of it Nick and parents and Eric visiting and trying to make everything perfect, so my stomach's been in one big knot. And by "stomach" I mean "bowels". One morning I pooped like six times, each time it was like firing a pebble out of a cannon, this little torn-looking hunk of grey-brown poot. And it burned like fire, even with nice TP when you poop six times in a row your bunghole gets chafed. It's so unpleasant. But I finally started having good movements again, woohoo. --Zahnnie 08:41, 7 Jun 2006 (EST)

- Holy tortellini, Batman. Green poop! Has anyone ever done THAT before? I took a crap this afternoon and boy, oh, boy, when I wiped, it looked like I'd smashed a kiwi on my butthole! What the heck!? But sure enough, when I looked into the bowl, lo and behold, it was a solid green turd; looked like Barnabus (Tom's african tree snake) crawling out of a hole. It must have been all that salad I ate this weekend before and during Legends - I guess it's true what they say: "salad in, salad out." I suppose that goes doubly true for when you've eaten *nothing* but salad, and maybe a chicken finger or two, and topped it off with delicious cognac and scotch. It took me so long to properly wipe off the ol' chocolate starfish after that one... oh, my kingdom for a moistened wet-wipe! --Ubernerd 14:23, 19 Jun 2006 (EST)

- What a strange occurrence! This morning I overslept a bit so grabbed my usual bagel 'n coffee from the Dunkin Donuts at Alewife. Iced coffee since it's summer. Now, I'm well aware that when I drink coffee on an empty stomach, I'm setting myself up for a trip to the john- or several! Also, flatulent dissonance of an epic scale! Nevertheless, I drank like half my icey treat before I could sit down and attend to my bagel. Will I never learn? Probably not. So I get to my office and sure enough, my stomach's a grumbling. Fully expecting great pain and "splattering shrapnel" I head to the can. To my surprise, my poo was only partially mutilated- it was of loose consistency, and looked somewhat as though it had been roughly torn into hunks (like bread dough). It was paler than usual, but not the sickly tan turd I usually expect on coffee-poo. HOWEVER. The smell of the poo was sharp and terrifying. I sat in the can and was momentarily dizzy when it reached my nostrils. It was like the worst eggy fart ever. Usually, I can deal with my own reek, cause you know, it's never as bad for you. But not in this case. Also, it took two flushes because the poo disintegrated when I hit the flusher. Hilarity! -Zahnnie 09:57, 26 Jun 2006 (EST)

- Many of you may well be familiar with the myth of the Medusa and her unholy tangled locks of snakes. This morning, I was reminded of said myth as I forcibly voided my bowels of their contents in a seemingly neverending series of squeeze-and-plop, squeeze-and-plop, progressively decreasing in size and length, until the resulting ballistae produced from my arse-barrel resembled nothing so much as small brown olives. Upon examination, I discovered the bowl graced by a writhing mess of tangled turds, much resembling the crown of the Medusa surrounded by small brown olive satellites, all of which I disposed of with a single Herculean flush. The smell itself served to remind me of the delicacies consumed during the belated birthday evening that Tom prepared for me: that is to say, a delectable assortment of fresh cheeses, prosciutto, blueberries, apples, and a large mound of olives, all accompanied by a tasty Riesling selection, and followed by a sip of vintage port. One might say I defecated a veritable feast fit for the gods! In fact, I dare go so far as to claim that the pile of crap itself was nearly fit for consumption... that is, if it hadn't been, well, a pile of crap. Delicious! --Ubernerd 13:47, 26 Jun 2006 (EST)

- This is a short one, but I thought you should all know that there was actually corn nuggets in my poo. From the corn we roasted yesterday at the barbeque. I'm talking actual solid yellow nuggets. I think my digestive system must not be working still, silly meds. Also, still haven't learned my lesson about coffee! -Zahnnie 12:03, 5 Jul 2006 (EST)

- Man oh man. Nothing is worse than the curry farts. And the curry craps that come with it. I felt some abdominal pain today, so I went to the office bathroom to relieve the payload. Good lord! After the rumble of a couple deeply satanic farts, it looked liked I'd dropped a 10 pack of Ball Park franks in the john. The most peculiar thing about it though, was that the turds were all smooth, disconcertingly straight, and lined up in perfect little rows and stacks - evenly sized to boot! Steve Patten could not have stacked his firewood so neatly if he had tried. My bunghole is not usually such a fine-tuned fecal-extrusion instrument, and so it was with great trepidation that I flushed the unintended masterpiece. It was only out of courtesy of subjecting future patrons to the stench, that I disposed of this potential omen of things to come. I wish I were somehow more astrologically inclined - perhaps the stars are somehow in alignment, and my eerily regular turds were a major portent of an impending apocalypse. If I shit out a profile of Nostradamus after lunch, I'm heading for the hills. --Ubernerd 11:41, 1 Aug 2006 (EST)

- Today has been the worse BM day ever. It's 3 pm and I've already dropped 3 scary-looking deuce bombs of decreasing size and consistency. I guess my body's getting back at me for getting tanked on Friday night on a mostly empty stomach, booting in a trash can in the Central Square T stop Saturday morning, eating nothing due to the hangover except for a bowl of *really* spicy noodles at about 3 pm, followed by a friend's sushi birthday dinner, then nothing on Sunday except for whatever few bites of fish and chips I could fit into a 24 inch waisted corset, and then more late night spicy death noodles. I'm sure the coffee and barbecue lunch for National FCS Appreciation Day didn't help either. My shit looks just like pulled pork squirting out from between a pair of sesame buns, and my ass burns like I've shoved a pack of picante chili spices up my smokestack. There's even some kind of brown rancid-smelling drippy mess and internal farty noises that sounds like I'm squeezing a bottle of barbecue sauce all over the bowl for added effect. I can't believe it looks like what I had for lunch just now. --Ubernerd 14:53, 2 Oct 2006 (EST)

- Some say that caffeine has negative side effects on a person's body when consumed in concentrated amounts. I can only attest to the truth of such a thing, especially when consumed in conjunction with a bottle of wine. In a fit of good judgement, I prepared myself for a long drive home the other night by drinking 3 Red Bull energy drinks after having consumed nearly an entire bottle of Fat Bastard Shiraz. What resulted from the consumption of this mess was every bit as vile as the taste that one might imagine this concoction would have, combined with the words "Red Tide." No, no it wasn't that time of the month, and yes, I'd just taken a shower so it definitely wasn't The Funk. The foulness that resulted from my late night cocktail resembled a bowl of disintegrating brown chowder and smelled literally like liquid fish. Who craps liquid fish?! I was so alarmed by wave after wave of loose stools being wildly jettisoned from my crap chute like so many misfired torpedoes that in a panic, I courtesy flushed before even finishing up. What a mistake! I had no idea that the toilets at work had such powerful flushes, and before I knew it, the brown rip-tide that had formed beneath me rose up and mightily splashed my poor behind before spiraling down the whirlpool below, leaving only a brown seafoam-like substance in its wake. Thank god for the showers in the bathrooms here at the office. --Ubernerd 14:14, 12 Oct 2006 (EST)

- Imagine if you will, a crustacean. Not just any crustacean... the most unpleasant crustacean imaginable to pass whole through one's colon. Then back up one step from "horseshoe crab" and you'll arrive at my latest fearsome crap: passing a lobster. Most unfortunately, the "lobster" was not a byproduct of a delicious seafood banquet, but rather, a weekend of consuming Maruchan Cup O' Noodles, popcorn, and NPC pickles from the "Dill [W]holes" jar. And though not lobster-esque by nature, it was most indeedy lobster-esque in size, shape, and exoskeletal consistency, much to my discomfort as I extruded it with great pains through my own dill [w]hole. The abnormally hard fan-like tip, followed by the progressively larger tail, tapering down to the little head, was complete with exoskeletal ribbing caused from the cracking and bending of this particularly hard piece of feces, which rendered excellent detailing and a certain je ne sais quoi to my latest grunt sculpture. The accompanying short bursts of turd (surprisingly none too malodorous in comparison to the ambient Eau d'Unwashed 4H Restroom) served to crown my masterpiece with two pointy claws, side by side at an angle slightly akimbo to the main crustaceal turd. The entirety of this mess was esconched in a bowl full of extravagant saffron liquid resembling nothing so much as a decadent bath of melted drawn butter which would have, in any other situation, caused me to go in search of my claw-crackers and seafood-fork. Truly, a masterful first in the field of faux-meat vegetarian dining.--Ubernerd 13:32, 6 November 2006 (EST)

- Oh... oh... oh god. Jumbo Choco-fudge Pocky. That is all. --Ubernerd 11:34, 7 November 2006 (EST)

- Oooooh... ooookay. Glad I didn't decide to subtly fart in my cubicle - that could have been messy. Talk about gherkin turds! No wait, I take that back: they more resembled cornichons. Little, green, curled and slightly pinched at the ends, they were most definitely the result of a mild case of food poisoning, which, I guess proves Tom was right. The 24-hour old meat pizza I ate was *probably* okay, but might have given me the mild shits. Nothing major or explosive, per se, though the moist series of farts that accompanied these mini-pickle turds on their way out were definitely a whimsical musical delight. When asked to describe these poots in further detail, I would liken them most to a puff of air being forced through the pursed lips of a tiny Raphaelian cherub, adding a cheery butt-harmonica tone and playful giggle to my baby-sized gourmet tootles. --Ubernerd 16:58, 11 December 2006 (EST)

- Whoever says that "unicorns are purely creatures of fiction" has obviously never eaten at the Boston Beerworks. At least, I'm pretty sure that's where they're serving it because there was no question that somehow, between last Friday and Saturday morning, I managed to ingest a unicorn. How do I know it was a unicorn? Well, for one thing, the beginning of the crap was an entirely different feeling from the normal intestinal rumbling that normally signal an impending bowel movement. In fact, it one might say that it tickled! Something in my colon was applying a feather duster to the ol' balloon-knot from the inside, and it was more than a chore to wait until Tom was finished occupying my bathroom with his own peristaltic efforts. Barely shutting the door in time, I fully expected to explode into the bowl, only to be stunned by the series of strange occurences that followed. Instead of unloading a beefy turd, my butt emitted a whinny! This is no mere metaphor, my friends, I kid you not - it was a real, true-to-life, honest-to-goodness Mr. Ed-style equestrian snort! The fart was then followed by an increase in the tickling sensation - at once it became rough, with a sense of urgency, and definitely more and more pointed. Frantic to be rid of the pressure, now digging like hooves against my tender loins, I birthed what seemed to be a rock with a single mighty push, leaving my asshole a painful trampled mess. Finally spent, I looked into the bowl to examine the products of my creation, only to find that the mythical beast had once more eluded the eyes of mankind, and I was left with naught but a single, perfect, straight, rock-hard brown horn - so even in shape and appearance that the toilet itself had trouble choking it down. --Ubernerd 15:45, 12 February 2007 (EST)

- My brother wrote this story in his Live Journal. He makes me so proud.

The Story

I usually bring with me to school a minimal amount of clothing. One pair of PJs, two pairs of pants, 2 t-shirts, 3 pairs of undies and 3 pairs of socks usually suffice. I change most things once every two days. However, this week I've run short on pants! "Why, Mog, however did you manage that, you dipshit?" you may be asking yourself, well,

I decided one day that it'd be a great idea to use the dining commons crappier because it was nice and private and comparatively clean (surprisingly). I was not incorrect. Everything was going according to plan up until The Big Flush, where everything would go bye bye and I wouldn't have to stare, appalled, at my own floating brown waste.

*FLOOOOOOSHSHIDHSOPHOSHHHSHOSHPHBRLUGBLURLGUBLGUERLGU*

Was the noise I made, not the toilet, as it vomited forth a viscous backlash of toilet water that went *splashsplash* all over my pants (a droplet also hit my hand and well, it hasn't felt clean since). Naturally this was disastrous and I just refused to acknowledge what had happened as I dutifully washed my hands and got the fuck to a shower as quickly as possible. Minutes later my icky pants were in my laundry bag and I swore to never use the dining commons toilets ever again.

And I thought I could borrow pants from my roommates, but then I remembered that they are terrifying stick children who might snap in two if the wind blows to hard. (Fuckers)

Posted by --Ubernerd 15:50, 18 April 2007 (EST) on behalf of Mog

- I recently made a long post on The Aftermath of Wildfire, which included the following excerpt recounting a requisite Fearsome Crap:

After a weekend of consuming extremely well-made hippie food (far too good for normal "camp" food - real camp food does not contain scallops), sprinkled with a good serving of tofu in the mix, I arrived home to find that Tom had, in my absence, cleaned up the entire house and scrubbed everything shiny and clean in anticipation of my arrival (and to pad the fact that he had invited a bunch of friends over to foul up the living room with boffer weapon scraps and beer bottle empties). Of course, I barely had time to appreciate all of this and all the "we missed you!" hugs because I was frankly about to explode from the weekend of rich buttery hippie food. In fact, the last good hard squeeze nearly sent the prairie dog a-poppin', and I was forced to politely excuse myself to the restroom before I soiled myself right there all over the floor. Let me tell you that the rest of this story was not pretty. It turns out that someone had left the water line in the bowl extremely low (occasionally an asynchronous pair of toilet flushes will do it), which provided me NO splash zone to muffle the smell. It was a sharp, acrid, and full-bodied stench, and took the form of a gelatinous glob (the tofu) interspersed with several beefy logs which I was later able to identify as the difference between the "meat" portions of my meal and the "tofu" portions of my meals. *plop* meat, *plop* meat, *fffftttttt* tofu, *plop* meat. After voiding my bowels, I felt at least 10 lbs lighter, and realized that not only was I not completely on my A-game at the fire festival from not having slept well, but on account of carrying around this massive payload for the whole weekend I must've looked at least 10 lbs fatter. But I digress. The upshot of this story is really the fact that the massive payload of justice, combined with the low water level in the bowl resulted in the ugly phenomenon we all know as shit-streaks. In a freshly scrubbed toilet no less. The only thing that left me more guilty than the paint-job i'd left in the can, was the toxic odor that was left to waft out the door to poison the rest of the houseguests and sent them quickly packing.

And the moral of this story is: Don't even bother scrubbing the toilet - some asshole who's just gone camping will just come back and destroy your good work immediately.

The End. --Ubernerd 08:37, 25 September 2007 (EST)

- DOUBLE FEATURE BONUS: Here is an extra story credited to Sir Dennis of Awesome, who was also trying to cheer me up after the object of my schoolgirl crush failed to return my email:

"This is a Pevner story. One semester, Pevner thought it would be really funny to live off of Mac and Cheese alone, so he does this faithfully for a month or two, eating nothing else. One day, he finds that he's really constipated and can't shit. Like, at all. After a few days of this, the pain gets exponentially worse and worse until he's rolling around in bed crying because he can't sleep. So he goes to see Medical, who refer him to MGH. MGH isn't sure what's up, think maybe he has appendicitis or something. "No, seriously, I can't shit, that's all", he tried to tell them. They insist on performing some sort of medical test where they stick a tube of saline into his ass and a radioisotope into his stomach, and put him in an MRI machine to watch where the food gets stopped. They tell him that the tube of saline is often applied to a lot of old men who can't hold their bowels and not to be embarassed if he leaks shit out onto the table. So they put it in there, and him inside the machine, and sure enough, he becomes a nasty brown river while they tell him to hold still inside the machine. Then he feels a rumbling in his stomach, and all of a sudden bolts out of the MRI machine and runs into the nearest bathroom with the saline tube still up his ass. He fills the entire toilet to the brim, flushes, backs it up and then has to do it again. Anyway, the brief time he was in the MRI shows that his intestines were swollen to something like 3 times their natural size. Their hypothesis was that all of the Mac and Cheese made some sort of a nasty glue that dried over time and blocked the whole system until the sodomy with the saline tube there."

And I guess this also happens to answer the first question in the Q&A section below. Thank you, Dennis.

- I took a particularly liquidus shit this morning at the office - it wasn't altogether that unpleasant. I hadn't actually felt any pressure building, and truth be told, it wasn't all that much of a relief the way I had expected a BM would be. Upon wiping a few times, however, I noticed an interesting yellow coloration patterning the paper, along with a few tendrils of semi-fibrous and undigested substance. It was, however, uncharacteristically smelly in a way I had not noticed prior to wiping, for the payload seemed relatively stench-free. I inspected the bowl, only to find that I had populated a veritable coral reef with a collection of spotted-color anemones! The particular landing of these semi-cohesive turds arranged themselves in such a fashion that while each loaf was its own separate entity completely submerged under water, clouds of fiber tendrils formed along the topside of the solid turd-bases lazily suspending themselves in the toilet tides, much akin to a living coral reef. I took a moment to observe this beauty - nature at its finest, while the fecal anemones enjoyed their tenuous purchase on the porcelain reef, before flushing them out with the low tide, and in so doing, continuing the cyclical nature of oceanic life. --Ubernerd 11:06, 28 September 2007 (EST)

- After a long hiatus from fearsome turd poppin' due to various attempts at health, nutrition, and fitness, I have once again returned to the ways of unhealthy, mediocre, and sub-par fooding thanks to long ugly nights toiling away on a major government robotics contract and Chili's Curbside To-Go. Quesadilla explosions aside, this morning's edition of XXXXXXTREME POOP was attributed to a delicious dinner of linguine carbonara, prepared with love and lard by Ranson and Bertha. Enjoy:

I experienced some unpleasant stomach cramps this morning; no doubt a byproduct of eating far too much delicious grease-tastic food the night before. Upon depositing my corn-loaf (surprisingly slick in its escape!) into the office john, my olfactory senses were assaulted with a most powerful odor, replete with chemical undertones. From the depths of my bowels came a terrible sound, the notes resembling those uttered by a smothered dying walrus, which tore at my heart and begged me to look upon the humanity and the destruction. I looked into yon bowl to investigate, and came face-to-face with none other but a miniature re-enactment of the most tragic oil spill in history: the disaster at Prince William Sound. Floating atop the water line was a thin yet visible film of oil, slowly spreading and seeping over the mounded toilet paper glaciers; wreaking its silent lipid-death on the surrounding sea-life. Below the water, the sad sinking corn-log lay broken in two, so reminiscent of the great husk; all that remained of the once-glorious tanker that was the Exxon-Valdez. I was overcome with sorrow at this poignant display... a reminder to us all of the importance of saving the environment. Perhaps the National Wildlife Foundation would have appreciated a picture, for use in their annual give-a-thon calendars, and yet to capture the beauty of this ephemeral natural display would have robbed it of a certain je ne sais quoi. And thus, with a single flush, the artwork was disposed, such that the world may never know. --Ubernerd 12:24, 20 May 2008 (EST)

- Since I shared this gross story about How I Ruined My Vacuum Cleaner with Steph, I figured I should share it with the rest of you:

For my birthday, Blackberry gave me a special birthday-turd. It was super stinky and ultra-fresh. Right there on my bedroom floor at the foot of my bed. I stepped in it and it was soft, so I could definitely tell. She seemed very pleased with her gift. I thought to myself "Oho! It is my birthday so I will clean the living jesus out of this place while I have the armoire out of the way." So I got my spiffy and intimidating new vacuum cleaner and I started to clean. Whilst pushing the vacuum vigorously, I accidentally ran over the cat turd in the bedroom, and I heard a "schlooop" noise. Suddenly everything began to smell terrible.

"UHHHH?? What's going on?" I thought, because I was still trying to figure out this new piece of equipment. The smell started getting worse and so I put the vacuum upright and clicked it into place, which (as I figured out) redirected the flow of air from the bottom of the vacuum right up through the handle (because it detaches and turns into a mini hand vac). This turned out to be a bad move because basically, it caused the vacuum to aim the stank-air RIGHT INTO MY FACE. I was horrified. I turned the thing off and went to go eject the canister because I figured that's where the cat turd ended up, and much to my surprise, the canister was REALLY WARM. I guess part of the design features of the Dyson cyclone technology is that it uses the empty canister as the heat sink for the motor that produces the massive vacuuming power, and so it was basically cooking up a hot fresh cat poop omelette. Upon further examination, and emptying the canister, I found that there was not one whole turd, but a whole lot of turd particles that had been ground up in the fine metal mesh of the inner filter as the turd was going around in the cyclone. So, in the span of less than 24 hours of owning the thing, I have coated the inside of my BRAND NEW vacuum cleaner in the smell of concentrated ass. I can't vacuum now without filling the room with the odor of hot litterbox and ionized air. I really hope to god that this smell goes away when the cat crap dries out and eventually flakes away over time. Otherwise, I'm going to have the Dyson Nobody Wants. --Ubernerd 12:22, 24 June 2008 (EST)

- I just went to the bathroom and had hard gas and corn shot out. Just one single burst. It was intensely horrifying. I almost let that one out in the cube because there's hardly anyone around. My god, that was close. I would have lost that gamble so bad... and since the showers are no longer anywhere near my group's area, I would have had to waddle all the way downstairs and diagonally across the building to cleanse myself. Smell Rating: 10 Hobo --Ubernerd 16:25, 20 March 2009 (EST)

- Man, I am so proud of myself. As you all know, the canonical pile of crap is always pictured as a neat little coil, but how many of you have actually MADE a pile resembling an actual spiral? Well, now, I can proudly say that I have crafted a spiral turd. And I didn't even have to stand up and turn around the bowl! This little bugger was shaped like a cross between a corkscrew and a drill bit, and 100% pure art. I think I have last night's dinner of bacon-mushroom brick oven pizza and deep fried macaroni-and-cheese-bites to thank for that masterpiece. Smell Rating: 5 Hobo. Bristol Number: IN A CATEGORY OF ITS OWN --Ubernerd 09:38, 7 April 2009 (EST)

Q&A Section

• How do you handle constipation?