Stopped Up

I'm backed up.
Nothing to report.
I apologize and promise to make it up some how (maybe some laxatives, or something).
I'll keep you posted.

A Mighty Wind

Whew! Yesterday was a truly magnificent day in the history of bowel movements. I may have set a new record.
Not for what you're probably thinking, but for what may be one of the most overlooked aspects of the poo-process: the passing of wind.
I contend that let out a fart yesterday morning that lasted for at least 25 seconds (I swear this is no exaggeration!).
It just would not stop.
It was funny at first (I giggled like a new-born), but I got bored after the first 15 seconds...
The end was a major disappointment: all blow, no 'go'.
I'm still in amazement, though.

Habanero Burn

Yowza!
I ran out of the hot sauce that I steal from the local taco joint (they're technically free, but I think they might frown on the truly vulgar amounts of the stuff that I manage to stuff in my "to-go" bag), so I made the truly brilliant decision to just use half a bottle of Habanero sauce in its place.
Bad idea.
It burned with the heat of a thousand suns.
I could feel the flames licking my butt as I deposited the pyro-poo in the toilet.
For at least half an hour after the debauchery of the night before left my bowels, I could still feel the burn.
Ye've been f'rewarned.

The Cork

Ever have one of those dumps that has "a cork" that's gotta be undone before the filth may spew from your anus?
I get 'em all the time.
This weekend, it took days for the cork to finally pop. But when it did, it was a thing of true beauty.

Someone Call the EPA

After two straight days of relative tranquility, Timmy's bowels erupted in a violent display earlier this morning.
It was basically just a popping-noise followed by a continuous flow of filth.
After the ten-minute clean-up effort ended, I spotted several environmental protesters in my front yard. Some were carrying signs with slogans like "Timmy=Tree H8er", and some were just hangin' out, smoking pot, and smelling bad.
All I had to do was open up the bathroom window, and they cleared out of the yard pretty quickly...

A Three-Flush Adventure!

For the most part, the last few days haven't produced any noteworthy crapathons. But yesterday morning's splatterfest can't be done justice without the penning of an entire novel.
It was awesome.
It wasn't your run-of-the-mill three-flusher that's a result of a clogging problem.
Oh nooooooooooooo. This bad-boy was a three-flusher as the result of a clean-up effort (I love hyphens!!!).
I had to grab the handicap railing just to stay on the commode.
Meteorologists have reportedly been able to detect changes in the weather due to this truly remarkable explosion of methane and feces.

The Blue Gatorade is Evil

For some reason, my body is unable to metabolize the blue dye found in a certain flavor of Gatorade.
I don't really mind. It's just that when I drink this certain flavor, my poo comes out a hue of blue. I call it "Hue of Blue Poo".
Let's just say that I drank quite a bit of the aforementioned flavor of Gatorade last night, and the rainbow-ocity of my dumps is at an all-time high.
I think I'll forget to flush, so some of the people at work can enjoy my handiwork.

I'm Disgusted with Myself

I honestly can't believe that my body could produce something as vile as what was staring me in the face from the toilet bowl this morning.
Yikes!
I don't know what I ate/drank to deserve this mess.
I'm just thankful that I was in my own bathroom at my own house and not at a Burger King.

So Many Dumps, So Little Time

I know it's been a long time since I last updated my Log Log (get it!?!), but I've been very busy defecating.
Most of the dumps I've birthed are unremarkable and are of interest only to poo-aficionados.
There was one particular dump, however, that can be appreciated by historians and laymen alike. I called it "The Iceberg".
She was a magnificent sight; at least two feet in length, and of considerable girth. The shallow waters of the toilet bowl cold not contain this beast, no sir. A good 10% of the poo-snake revealed itself above the water (hence "The Iceberg").
Unfortunately, I flushed the beast before the good people at the Guiness Book of World Records were able to establish the claimed weight of 348 lbs. (I'm just a disappointed as you are).

The Crappiest Day

Mathematicians are working furiously to identify and name a new number that can accurately describe the number of times I've given tithe to the Porcelain Goddess today.
I don't know what the cause of this phenomena is, or how many pounds of poo have paraded through my colon today.
Either way, the water bill at work is going through the roof, and people here at work are beginning to talk...
My employer has set up counseling centers for the unfortunate souls who have been brave enough to enter the bathroom. There's only been two suicides so far...

Guess What Timmy's Been Cookin'?

I knew that it wouldn't be a two-round crap today, and I knew that the third round would be a scorcher.
I had to excuse myself from my job for a few moments to go to the bathroom. There was some dude prepping his hair in the bathroom; I didn't care.
I'm sure the sound of the butt trumpet made him uncomfortable, and I'm sure the stench made his frosted hair stand on end.
It's his own fault. If you choose to visit Timmy's Doo-Doo Lair, you best be prepared for some stankin', 'cause Timmy always brings the heat.
Somewhere right now, there's some dude with frosted, perfectly managed hair, balled up in the corner of his cubicle (teeth chattering), telling his coworkers to "make the bad monster go away."

The Phantom

In the wee-hours of the morn', our hero (Timmy) quickly sprinted toward the nearest crapper to make a deposit.
After the transaction was complete, Young Timmy decided to admire his work. But as he turned to view his masterpiece (he was going to title it "Recycled Chicken-Fried [Part Deux-Doo]), something strange occured: there was nothing there.
It had vanished.
Timmy considered plunging his arm into the icy depths of the crap-tank, but decided to go back to sleep instead.
Legend has it, that late at night if you grunt three times while the church bells are ringing, you can sometimes smell the stench of The Phantom Crap.
A few have even claimed to have seen it (but none of these claims can be substantiated).

Booooooorrrrring

Two craps.
One at home, one in a public restroom.
Both crappy (I mean this in the figurative sense).
Maybe I should take some laxatives to liven things up 'round here at the ol' Doo-Doo Blog.
Or maybe I should just take advantage of the Pancho's all-you-can-eat buffet for supper.
Either way, I the future is bright.