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January 20, 2006

FRANKLY, WE'D RATHER HANG OUT WITH MORNING STAR

(Note: The YELLOW FOR CAUTION warning is down there, at the bottom. Be cautious. You probably don't even want to read this.)

During a gathering of about eight of our closest friends, something mysterious happened. The surprise was not an immediate surprise. We had the pleasure of a strange smell coming from our bathroom for three days before we actually discovered the wonderful present one of our friends had left us. We scoured the entire bathroom before we discovered it. I mean, who thinks to look under the cabinet for poop when cleaning the bathroom?

After bleaching the room from top to bottom with the pesky smell still lingering, we investigate the unexpected smell source, our bathroom cabinet. Whereupon, we found a Pittsburgh Pirate cup with dried out brown paper towels on top. After calling in several roommates to investigate, we all confirmed the smell source. It was immediately thrown away outside. Several minutes later after jokingly referring to how ridiculous it would be for someone to poop in a cup, curiosity overtook us. We went outside to the trashcan armed with rubber gloves. We picked the cup up out of the trash and dumped it out. Sure enough, poo.

And now we're wondering . . . how close are these close friends of ours? I mean one of them pooped in a cup and put it in our cabinet. Who does that? Just in case anyone out there finds themselves with a cup full of poo, make sure you take it with you when you leave. Because as much as your friends love you, they do not love finding your poo in a cup three days later under their cabinets. If in fact you find yourself a recipient of this wonderful gift, we want to let you know that a lot of beer and a pack of cigarettes helped us forget about it for about four hours while the buzz lasted. We're still pissed. Kelly Tucker & Molly Laurence, Washington, D.C.

Comments

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Let me be the first to say: That's just nasty.

There sure has been a lot of crap on the blog today!!

New Lipton Cup o' Poop! Mmm, mmm, good!

Although, "Poo in a Cup" WMAGNFARB!

I shudder to think of the CD covers though....

Um...

Nope, I got nothin'.

Except "ew."

Friends selection criteria:
1. Do you smoke?
2. Are you a maniac?
3. What is your political pursuasion?
4. Do you like boys or girls?
5. Are you a cup crapper? (See #2)

Atticusser~ Clever as that is, I can't bring myself to snork at it, being a Lipton eater. You get an *Ewwwww*

I once found a website about pooing in the toilet tank instead of the bowl. I think that would be worse than a "Lipton's Cup o' Poo."

Sharing that points to a very slow news day on the blog. I'd say thanks, but I wouldn't mean it.

Not quite as bad, but equally as annoying, friends with kids who come over and poop (the kids that is) in places besides the potty! The kids are young, so they can't really be held accountable, but Mom/Dad come on - you know you can smell it too and it isn't the cat!

It's your duty is to clean up the doodie!

They pooed in a dixie cup? Who has that kind of aim?

I'm impressed.

Oh wait ... a Pittsburgh Pirate cup ... oh ... nevermind then.

WTFP?

That’s not what I do when I’m given a plastic cup before going into the bathroom. Have I been doing it wrong?

And how exactly would you do that? I mean, I have no experience in aiming my poo so I’m not sure mechanically how that’s done. Seems like it would be a little difficult to . . . uh (how to say this) . . . . point the. . . uhm . . . I mean . . . get the cup in the right spot under one’s . . . . well you get the idea don’t you?

Imagine trying to fill a soft serve ice cream cone without being able to actually see the cone. I just think it would be challenging . . . . and messy.

Does one hold the cup? Or set the cup on the ground, on the counter, in the sink, other? Really, if we can’t ask these questions here in an open and sincere attempt to gross each other out, where can we?

My cat poops in the bathtub sometimes. But he's a cat.

I think -- no wait, I KNOW -- that if one of my HUMAN friends (these people are human, right?) poo'ed anywhere other than the toilet, they would not be one of my friends anymore.

Anywhere other than the toilet in my house, that is. Theoretical camping trips excluded.

Winter, spring, summer, or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll poop there
You have a friend

Judi - I would just like to bring your attention to the pointlessness of the "YELLOW FOR CAUTION" warning on this item.

What good does that do if there's no link to avoid?

Plus, the warning is at the bottom which means I had already read the offending material before I could possibly take caution.

Plus, shouldn't it be "BROWN FOR CAUTION" in this case?

D'OH! I swear Judi's pre-caution caution was not there before my previous comment.

We're still pissed

Well, technically...

Clearly they need to stop serving alcohol to their friends. This will help several levels.
a) less people come over since there's nothing with which to get plastered.
b) lower chance of getting surprise deposits.
c) in the case b) doesn't hold and surprise deposits are made, a) ensures a smaller list of suspects which may or may not be cross-referenced with the guest list from previous pooperific party.

I'm just saying.

help on* several levels. Curse lack of editing.

OMG...flashback to the early 70s...I had a roommate in a boarding house with common bathroom which we were asked to leave because the landlady didn't like our ..uh...antics... Several days before we had to leave I noticed a rank odor in the bathroom and mentioned it to him after we moved out ...He cackled evilly and said he had placed a surprise under the hot water heater that would keep on giving... He wasn't the most seriously disturbed person I've known, but he was certainly in the top five.

Editing? On this blog? Established by the famed Mr. Language Person? Please.

Frankly, if it is clear, well written, and error free it doesn't belong here. And we don't want it.

Booger!

Phil? Is that you? Them was good times buddy.

I'm doing well. My life is full and I enjoy what I doo. I particularly like my daily time in the TV room--(Jerry Springer rocks!) and the conjugal visits.

That's the news from Happy Valley. Take care!

Brainy~ You get the *snork*

when will I learn to listen to judi when she says I don't want to read something? I really, really didn't want to read that, and yet, I read it just the same...

now it's gonna take a lot of beer and something to smoke to help me forget about it

A Pittsburgh Pirate cup? Brown paper towels in the bottom? Brown residue in the cup? I don't think we have a case of phantom pooper here. I think they just have to remember who was placing a pinch of snuff between cheek and gum that night. Case solved.

Yuk. I had a roommate in college for 2 quarters who was from Pakistan. His name was Jawad Ali, and he was studying nuclear physics, in 1989. Go figure what he's doing now. One day, I saw that he was putting bowls and silverware back in the cupboard after rinsing them off. I explained kitchen manners to him. So then I catch him leaving open cans of tomato sauce in the fridge. When I confronted him, he asked why he couldn't do that. Not remembering bochalism off the top of my head, I said it was "un-American". And my other roommate and I laughed about it for two years.

So Jawad used to use a ton of toilet paper. Like a roll every time he went to the bathroom. My other roommate got tired of this, and they shared a bathroom, so he started locking his up in his car. Then I had a whole year's worth disappear in a few days. So then I started locking mine in my suitcase. No kidding. So then, the 1000 napkins I bought at Costco start disappearing, and finally, paper plates are almost gone. And then, Jawad suddenly had to make trips to the library every evening. He said he studied better there. Yeah, I bet.

Brad - what exactly was he using the bowls for? A friend of mine had a college roommate that used a bowl during the night instead of walking the 10 feet to use the bathroom.

OMGPICBBQ!?!

The following song lyrics (I don't know the songwriter, but I first heard it by The Geezinslaws) makes reference to spitting snuff residue into a Coca-cola cup. Where I'm from, lots of folks dip and they all carry a spit cup when their indoors. In fact, where I'm from we consider a woman to be level-headed if the snuff juice leaks out of both corners of her mouth at the same time. I think the writers of the letter that opens this thread mistook the residue in the Pittsburgh Pirates cup for poop, a mistake that could be easily made if you never saw, or smelled a spit cup. Okay, let's all join in and sing along! A-one, a-two, a-three!


Copenhagen


Copenhagen, what a wad of flavor
Copenhagen, you can see it in my smile
Copenhagen, hey do yourself a favor, dip
Copenhagen, it drives the cowgirls wild


I went out last Sunday with my little Mary Ann
She said "please stay til Monday"
She grabbed me by my can
Well she laid a big one on me
Surprised my with her tongue
But her surprise was waiting there between my cheek and gums


Copenhagen, what a wad of flavor
Copenhagen, you can see it in my smile
Copenhagen, hey do yourself a favor, dip
Copenhagen, it drives the cowgirls wild


Well I went out to the movies with my little Peggy Sue
I had a dip there in my lip just like I always do
She didn't see me spitting in my Coca-Cola cup
She took a great big swallow and she throwed her popcorn up


Copenhagen, what a wad of flavor
Copenhagen, you can see it in my smile
Copenhagen, hey do yourself a favor, dip
Copenhagen, it drives the cowgirls wild

Okay, as a former manager of convenience stores (a past I really didnt wish to revisit) Stupendous Man made me gag with his little ditty - Insom you are not (at least not to tonight).

Brad: My mentally challenged cousin has his toilet paper rationed as well. I am NOT making a direct connection between your previous roommate and mental health, just saying, if my cousin had his way, a 24 pack of Charmin would last about a day.

For the record, since we are being gross, my cousin, who is 30 years old, went through a 4 pack of TP per day while living with his then girlfriend. Apparently they thought it was some sort of birth control.

BTW, what was the topic?

Jacki, I went to Google for those lyrics. I didn't write them myself. Nonetheless, you're right. There is only one Insom', a master at fresh lyrics for stale tunes!

*tries to imagine TP as birth control*

s'eyes, considering ancient Egyptian women used crocodile dung inserts (they came in both regular and menthol) to prevent pregnancy, perhaps TP has a future role in birth control...especially used TP.

Somewhat on thread ... in a recent conversation I was told that it seems there are a (surprisingly) large percentage of people who, when they use the TP, will place it in the wastebasket, rather than flush it from the stool ...

Which brings to mind two (at least!) questions:

1. Why?

2. Any truth to this? Anyone have any research or life experiences that would support/disprove the observation? Bueller? Anyone?

U.O. I have life experience with this, I am sad to say. It happens most often when parents have poorly functioning or non-existant septic tanks.

As a child, I looked on while my folks built our home in the middle of God-knows-where and it wasn't an issue for several years as we used buckets filled with sawdust. (IANMTU!)

Once the house was habitable (25 years later it is still not complete) I was taught not to flush more "than the toilet can eat" which equated to like two pieces of of paper at a time.

Recently, my young cousin, living in another state in a different house, began this same habit, despite no family warnings. Turns out her best friend was coming over, and having been taught at home that it was impolite to flush paper, was throwing it in the waste basket.

Gives a new meaning to the term doesn't it.

Jacki -

Yeah, I thot of that multiple usage for the receptacle ... glad you thot if it also ...

and ...

Well, I could compare some notes/rememberings with you ... but this "nostalgia for a two-hole privy" schtick prolly isn't of much interest to those folks who never had the privilege of living (what seemed to be) a normal life in rural America ...

The background on the subject person who brought this up is unavailable, but the teller was just as curious/flabbergasted as I was, to think that the "alternative" disposal of paper is how some people learned about how to deal with their fundamental needs ...

Not funny, I know ... but, sorta interesting ... in an abstract sense ...

In some countries, I've been told, it is often customary to not flush TP.

I'm with those here who are still puzzling over the logistics of it all. I'd tend to think the perpetrator might have pooped in the commode above the waterline, creating a poop staging area. Then it would be a simple matter to slide the cup against the bowl to collect the material. Dr. Henry Lee might be able to examine any smear patterns to deterimine if this was the methodolgy. Ted Koppel could get to the bottom of this. Or he might just ask Dave.

U.O. - Yeah, what you said.

(Snork!)

If you ever want a conversation about living without the current privillages of life in the 21st century, just let me email you my grandmother's phone number. She'll talk to you so long the next great wave of technological advancement will be here before you know it!

everysandwich - don't take this the wrong way, but i think you've been thinkin' about this waaaaaat too much - just sayin'

U.O. and jacki - I remember havin' to use the outhouse at my grandparents' place in the late '70's - they never did get indoor plumbing (after grandpa died in '79, grandma sold the place and moved to town) - but anyway, this was in NoDak, and I remember staying over night there in the winter, and laying awake half the night tryin' ta hold it cuz it was subzero outside...

aaahhh - memories

TCK, I lived in a van for a year (on purpose), I still can't go to sleep without making an extra trip to the bathroom...

Oh God. Yes U.O. That does happen. I hope one of my friends does not read this blog, but one of his girlfriend's kids (before their daughter) was over at my house to help me with a garage sale and went to borrow my bathroom. He's like 4 or 5 I think. Anyway, there was a horrible smell in the bathroom when I went up there an hour later and I could not figure out what happened. Hell, I don't have kids, and the worse smell that ever gets into my bathroom leaves through the highest power and lowest noise exit fan you can buy at Home Depot. Any, after about 30 seconds of investigation, I realized that the smell was coming from the trash can. And yes, the kid tossed his TP in the trash can. This is one of those super nifty nickel satin finished inside and outside trashcan. I don't even put loose gum in it.

So now imagine you're me. What the hell do you do?!? I was thankful (a) that it wasn't on the walls and (b) that I have dogs, not kids. But I asked my friend about this later that day and they said he does that because he used to clog up the only working toilet in the house for 6 people. Aren't you s'posed to warn people about your kids' toilet habits if they're like that? Until I say otherwise, garage sales are at someone else's house until the little TP monster gets with the program.

I'm sorry I read that.

C'mon Judi, a little decorum please. In future, we'd appreciate you refer to poop in the proper latin; "Doodulus"

thank you.

jacki - on purpose? was it for fun - like "if the van's rockin' don't bother knockin"?

TCK~ My grandparents still had an outhouse when my sister was little (before I was born). Mom said she had to hold onto her when she put her on the seat because the opening was big enough that she was afraid she'd fall through.

Let me be the first (and last) to say, not me!

You've never lived...or carried 1000s of gallons of well water downhill (privies should always be downhill from the well)...until you drop a cherry bomb in your grandmother's outhouse. TG I didn't stand there looking down the hole to see what would happen! Many years later, when grown, I was proud to present my grandparents with a First Alert (TM) Bear Alarm for their newest outhouse. Outhouses tended to outlive their location and had to be moved eventually.

My dad's favorite outhouse story involved an elderly spinster aunt, an outhouse, and a wet sponge, tied to a stick and hinged under the seat inside the outhouse. Attached to the other end of the stick was a small string, so when spinster aunt sat down, dad snuck out and gave the string a yank, which rose up with a wet, cold *smack*. The said they laughed until they almost cried as the aunt went sailing out of the outhouse door, yelling "Snake! Snake" with (And I quote my daddy on this) "her bloomers still down around her ankles".

You GUYS!!!

Wowser!

I got no "special" outhouse memories other than the fact that I ran into one with a cultivator once ... sorta mooshed it outa shape ...

(it was perty old NEway, and sorta drafty, with cracks between the boards and some knotholes and the landlord thot we prolly needed a new one, so he had one built for us ... two differently-sized holes, very smoothly sanded seat ... tongue-and-groove siding ... classiest one I ever saw, until I discovered one made of bricks @ a State Park ... hence, the photo -- somewhere in my shoebox filing system -- of a genuine Brick Sh!thouse ... ISIANM ANY OF TU!)

... but I recall spending quality time with my dad there, where he'd honor me with serious discussions of farming plans, whether to sell the herd of registered Herefords, or buy a baler ... what crops to plant ... I was about 10 or 11 years old, at the time ...

as y'all (esp. TCK) said ... aaaahhh, memories ...

John~ *snork* But your dad is evil. :-)

A friend of mine recalls an outhouse prank they used to play when he was a teenager in Iowa. They would simply drag the entire outhouse about six feet back from its previous location. Sleepy people, waking up and walking outside in the cold, dark night, are often not the best judges of distances....

I am reminded of the old George Carlin bit....

"I have to take a sh*t."
"Well, don't take too many. We're getting low and the weekend is coming."

That reminds me of the story about the kid from the Ozarks who got drafted and spent a year in Nam as a demolitions man. During that year, he saved his money and managed to ship enough explosives and a hand detonator home to blow up the family outhouse. He was going to use his savings to have indoor plumbing put in at the old farmhouse. First thing he did when the welcome home ceremonies were over was to set his charges in the outhouse, string his line over a protective rise and get ready to demolish the Little Brown Shack Out Back. He didn't notice Gran'paw slip out the back door of the house and cozy into the facilities. As he cranked his detonator, he peeked over the rise to see boards, s*it and Gran'paw sail into the air. Gran'paw landed flat on his back next to his grandson and proceeded to get gingerly to his feet while dusting himself off. "Gran'paw, are you all right?" the kid asked with concern. "Yep, I'm okay," replied Gran'paw, "but I'm sure as hell glad I didn't try to slip that one out in the kitchen."

TCK -- you're absolutely right about me overthinking the subject. I blame it on the fact that I own the world's weakest low-flow commode, so I have a lot of visual experience with the staging area concept. Incidentally, saying "low-flow commode" repeatedly will eventually sound like an actor forced to ad lib a language he doesn't know.

What excellent stories on this thread. Clearly the outhouse generates a whole different kind of comedy from modern plumbing. TCK -- living in a van -- You were cool before Jewel! Or are you Jewel? Great Carlin quote, Alanboss. I'd never heard it. Was it part of making the distinction between taking a sh*t and giving a sh*t?

stupe' - (& y'all, of course)

Not trineta disagree on the "downhill" concept, but I read somewhere once, about how in certain examples or cases, that an idiosyncracy of the terrain and the water table, that it is possible for an uphill (from the outhouse) well to be contaminated by a (downhill) privy ... ISIANMTU ... it's a rarity, but possible ... just sayin' ... FYI ...

OTOH, and kinda related, an old joke summat akin to Carlin, but not outhouses:

A prim and proper elderly lady was walking along the sidewalk.

An open manhole (with proper safety cones/barriers) was nearby.

As she passed, an incredibly offensive string of profane expletives came out of the manhole to offend her ears and sense of propriety.

She stepped over to the manhole, rapped on it with her umbrella and said (in cultured, British tones):

What in the world is going on down there, that would justify such an objectionable outburst by anyone?

A rather gruff and somewhat apologetic voice replied (in a lower-class Cockney accent).

We're tikin' inventory, ma'am ... an' we're two tunna shid short!

Roomie! I had heard that you were killed in a head-on collision in the late 80s but that must have been exaggerated... Is the VA still sending you Thorazine and Stelazine through the mail? And are you still stockpiling it in the cubboard? Are you still pissed about my "psycho" and "nutjob" comments the last time I saw you? Okay...I'm off to ... uh.. Dubai

Well, CRAP (to coin a phrase) ...

I did a link/post ... and it disappeared ... lessee if I kin dismember how and try it again ...

I thot that this stuff (for this thread and/or bunch, from Thursday thru today, for those of you who don't see this one regularly) was sorta apropos ...

Or not ... whatever ... I liked it ...

I am NOT, repeat NOT Jewel! just sayin'

Sorry southerngirl. I got van dwelling posters confused. I was thinking Jackie might be Jewel -- unless the van was down by the river.

I never thought I would post this, anywhere or any time, but since the "little kids and poo" stories are coming out of the woodwork...

I had a summer job in college at a store that was a cross between a glorified "five-and-dime" and a low-rent Kmart, and within a week and a half, I had three unpleasant tasks:

1) I was called to the candy aisle with a mop. When I passed the service desk clerk on my way there, she said I wasn't going to like what I had to do, because "somebody, umm...you know" on the floor. I was expecting to find a golden puddle, but no, it was the other...and it wasn't a Baby Ruth bar, either (gratuitous Caddyshack reference, of course).

2) A few days later, I was also called to clean up a "mess" on the floor, which also turned out to be poo. The weird part was its location, the women's dressing room.

3) A day or two after that, during a routine check of the men's room, I found out that a little kid had a) pooed in his pants, b) left the (literally) crappy underwear on the floor, and c) tried to wipe himself with the side end of a brand-new roll of toilet paper, which he also left on the floor.

I left the job a few weeks before summer's end, because I just couldn't take all the crap anymore. *rim shot*

Phil: Nah, I'm not sore. You were a prophet.

About the *zines. Oh yeah, baby-I still got 'em. Why? Need some? Personally, I got no use for the shi*. Takes the edge off and you know how I like to howl at the moon.

U.O, you're definitely right about the privy location. If there is an aquifer with enough head pressure it can flow uphill. It is rare, though. The privy at my grandparents modest farm was quite a sight, almost as large as their home. It could accomodate 4 people horizontally or eight vertically. Relief was always an adventure down on the farm.

It's getting mighty late, and Kelly and Molly still haven't checked in to say, "Stupendous Man, you're right. It was a spit cup! The guy (or gal) we privately refer to as Old S*it for Breath was dippin' during our party. He (she) says he (she)left the spit cup in the bathroom cabinet so he (she) could use it again the next time we invite him (her) over...like there's really gonna be a next time!"

Stupendous Man, close friend of Molly and Kelly's here (though not the one who pooed in the cup, I swear!). It was poo. It was not a spit cup, there is absolutely no mistaking the smell, look, and viscosity of a cup of poo. End of story.

Maybe someone doesn't like the Pirates?

This is Kelly Tucker of Washington, D.C. I just have a couple of comments regarding previous posts.


1. I absolutely agree that it is incredibly disgusting that someone left a cup of poo under our sink. Imagine how much more disgusted you would be if you found the cup, instead of just reading about it.

2. We have no idea who pooped in the cup, who is going to fess up to something like that?

3. Our theory is that someone scooped the poop into the cup after clogging the toilet. Pooping in a cup would, as many suggested, require a lot of precision.

4. I wish that drinking was an excuse, but I don't think that anyone WAS drunk. (Anyways, who poops in a cup when they are drunk? I've never heard of that happening, but then again, someone left a cup of poop under the sink.) I'm pretty sure that he or she is just dumb. Even if the original intent was to personally dispose of the poop, no one could forget that he or she left a cup of poop under the cabinet. There is no excuse besides stupidity.

5. It was definitely poo.

Hey, Stupendous Man,

Sadly, I must confess that my beloved husband is a Copenhagan chewer. He keeps swearing that he's going to quit, but that is one nasty addiction-- worse than smoking, I believe, b/c there is more nicotine involved. While I agree that a spit cup is gag-inducingly revolting, it cannot seriously be mistaken for a cup of poo. The smell is not nearly the same, unless the poo-er has been eating tobacco (which I don't think would pass through the digestive system).

That last post was number 69.

*snork*

Well, at least it was contained in a cup. I do a lot of work in steel mills. I worked with a guy who was only to happy to explain to me how piles of poop would wind up in various places throughout the plant.

Those crane operators were especially (what's the word here....I can't think of one.) Because they were up in the cab of the crane for hours on end, when nature called they would go in whatever they had - bag, cup, hand, on the floor, whatever, and then (if the next operator was lucky) they would drop it out the window of the crane.

The ones with class used Depends. Then dropped THEM out the window of the crane.

Me, well, I'm going to work for a beer company.

If anyone thinks the smell of dip spit can't possibly smell like poo ... let me tell you, it can smell far worse. When I was in the military, a friend of mine who dipped had to deploy for a month. To make a long story short, I found a spit can by the sink in his dorm room and I could smell the funk from at least 3 feet away. But that cup had been there a couple of weeks. The Pittsburgh Pirates cup here had only been there for 3 days so I'm inclined to trust the assessment that it was indeed poo. Spit cups can get unbelievable rank-smelling, but it takes more than a few days.

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