The Poopie Post

At times I have plans of making this blog a home for thoughtful, compassionate, insightful posts with a lasting impact. This is apparently not one of those times. Right now, my brain is thinking poopie. Yes, number 2 is now number 1 in my mind. Needless to say, the Pulitzer Prize is not showing up in my mailbox anytime soon.


One of my earliest memories of this subject was when I was 1 or 2. Maybe even 3, as my memory is a bit fuzzy that far back. One of my aunts had my brother and I in the bathtub, giving us a bath. I was in front, and he was behind me. I remember looking down, and watching with some amazement as a brown log floated slowly between my legs and toward the front of the tub. I was thinking, “Hey, that’s pretty cool”, and I’m sure I could have watched it for hours, fascinated. Just like a leaf floating lazily down a peaceful river. I knew it was mine, so I assume I understood what part I had in delivering this fine work of art to an appreciative audience.


Or at least some of the audience was appreciative. Don’t remember my brother being very bothered by the whole thing. My aunt, well, that was a different story. Don’t think she got extremely upset, but I have a slight hunch that she doesn’t remember that incident with the same fondness as me. Which is not too surprising. I think it makes a big difference whether the poopie is yours or not. I have to admit, if I visit a port-a-potty and see what others leave behind, it’s gross out city. I want to leave the stall immediately and will only add to the community offering pile if there are absolutely no other options available.


On the other hand, if I’m on the john and stand up afterwards, sometimes I’m tempted to admire my handiwork. Like a wine connoisseur commenting on the bouquet and fragrance of the wine, I make mental notes on the color, size, shape and form of my artwork. Sometimes it’s all jumbled up, and sometimes you have a beautiful swirl like a soft serve ice cream cone. I’m almost tempted to pat myself on the back, until I remember I’ve got a tissue in hand.


Which brings me to another thought. Have you ever been in a toilet stall, wiped your windshield, then had the paper slip from your hand and float gently to the ground instead of to the bowl? Odds are high that if this does happen, there will be someone in the stall next to you. “Excuse me, can you pass the grey Poupon” is not part of the conversation. As you both see this thing settle on the floor, both of you are thinking the same thing……”Oh Shit!”……. They’re scrambling to move their feet away as quick as they can, and you’re trying to bend down with your pants around your ankles and butt still hovering over the bowl, as you hope to God you can reach the tissue without falling over. Most stall neighbors would consider it slightly unnerving to suddenly find a half naked human diving into their stall while screaming “shit……” Their only answer would be “I believe it is.”


A Modest Proposal

Looking around at all the mayhem in this world, it is clear that a drastic solution is needed. The number of wars is far too large, and the amount of violence in the world right now gives pause to any normal person. There is way too much death, misery, and sorrow. After much review, it appears the common denominator is men. The wars, the violence,….. seem to be largely the domain of males.


Therefore, I believe the best solution to this problem is that we neuter all males. I propose we do this worldwide, without delay. My reasons are as follows:


With the current medical advances in stem cell therapy and in vitro fertilization, reproduction could easily be accomplished in a doctor’s office or clinic. No need for women to ask “Is it in yet?” or to put up with “Five Second Fred” (if you know what I mean, and ladies, I think you do). Cuddling and spooning would once again be added to the male vocabulary.


As to women giving up some pleasure, there’s no risk of that. Seeing the size of the potential market, the high tech industry will erect a massive research infrastructure to develop better toys and devices, allowing women to choose whether their big O is “relaxing waves of pleasure”, “a bolt of lightning”, or “I think my uterus just shot off to Mars”. Bob’s Big Boy will no longer just refer to a hamburger chain.


Wars, in the rare case where they would occur, would be limited to once a month for a couple of days. Fought mostly by women, bullets and bombs will be replaced by scratching, hair pulling, and judged contests involving catty remarks about clothes and shoes.


Conservatives would be happy that men would no longer prey on men and boys, and liberals would be happy that men would no longer prey on women and girls. Family pets would be thrilled, as thoughts run through their head of “How do ya like THAT, big fella? Now you know how I feel.”


The restaurant industry would be transformed with a new wave of Rocky Mountain Oysters, Alabama Apples, Georgia Grapefruits, and Pennsylvania Pebbles. Even Boulder, Colorado would get into the act with a new city mascot and flag.


It would be brave new world out there, with some actual hope for the future. A few snips here, a few snips there, now you’ll need some new underwear (thus stimulating the economy). Let’s first attack the low hanging fruit as we ride the cutting edge of civic improvement!