Poop

Evil Twin's Wife's comment on the my last post, the comment about Aqualung carrying jars of poop around in his pockets, has floored me. I suddenly find I have a wealth of poop to share.

- According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, any butt association with the word "poop" (as opposed to poop deck poop) evolved from a word meant "to break wind softly" (our modern poot probably also comes from that) or "to make a short blast on a horn" (think maybe somebody in days of yore had sauerkraut night too often?).

- When I was a young child (early 70s when Manson was still fresh and new), my aunt was in high school. She had one of those black velvet, black light posters on her bedroom wall. It was a simple sunshiny cartoon scene on the bottom with the rays of the sun leading up toward a giant puffy-lettered poop in all caps. I must've been 7 or so. Even at that age, I marveled at how sublimely odd that choice in both decorating and manufacture had been. Its existence begged so many questions why.

- The ex-MIL was a social worker whose clients were the elderly. She said sometimes the elderly get obsessed with their poop and they do strange things with it. She said she went into one new client's house and opened her kitchen cabinets to see if she was stocking them well. She said the cabinets were all filled with packages wrapped in newspaper and labeled with foods and dates. But the packages were all full of the old lady's poop. She would label the food part what she thought she'd eaten to make that particular poop. Then she went into structured living.

- There was a baglady in Toledo when I lived there. They called her Elaine the Baglady. She also smelled like horse shit, but I know she wasn't carrying any around in her pockets. I know this because it wasn't unusual to see her stop pushing her cart around downtown in the middle of the day, walk over to a lamp post or other pole, and put both hands on the pole (support? leverage? the need to reach out and touch something?). Then she'd grunt and strain and a fresh baglady turd would plop onto the sidewalk from beneath her tattered skirt. Then she'd walk away as if nothing had happened. I guess it would be too much to expect any semblance of wiping from a person who openly shits in the middle of a busy street with the same lack of self-consciousness a construction worker might have for launching a snot rocket.

- The ex-husband, Mr. Cake-Icinglike-Poop-Slathered-Robe himself, once told me a story after we'd married. It was his "most embarrassing thing that happened during sex" story. He and a girl were doing 69. They finished. She's coming toward him for a kiss, and he notices that his shit is smeared on her nose. He never gave an adequate accounting of what he said to her and what she said in return, but I was thankful to have learned of his poor ass wiping skillzz via the robe for which he was named.

- And a final poop-related entry that I left in a comment on Mental Poo yesterday. I once knew a girl who worked in a restaurant. On health inspector day, one of the cooks left a turd floating in the clear liquid hand soap dispenser. Took shitting at work and shitting on work to a whole new level. Best part was: They couldn't figure out which one left the shit and they couldn't afford to send said turd out for testing. Can't remember how many points off on the restaurant score having a poo floating in your handsoap is, but I'm sure it's big points. At least it should be.