the truth about fecal matter

i used to know this guy (we weren't best friends or anything, but i knew him) that had this strange obsession. whenever he went into a public restroom and someone was in the stall making feces, he would wait till they came out so he could see what they looked like compared to the smell. sometimes he would go to great lengths to make people in the stalls think he left, like washing his hands, drying them with paper towels and then opening the door and letting it shut on it's own while creeping into a corner the person couldn't see from the stall.

he always said it was amazing how many people would hide out in there until everyone had left the bathroom before coming out.

he believed, through this process he could understand something about the psychology of dumps, sort of like criminal profiling, but for shit. that, by gathering enough information about the "guilty parties", he could begin to predict the aspects of a person simply by the smell. this was a trait he seemed to believe would be quite useful to him. i can't imagine how. anyway, i haven't talked to him in years, but for some odd reason i thought about him today and his little science project and wondered how the stats were coming along.

all of that reminded me of another guy i knew (who was actually somewhat of a friend inasmuch as someone who leads a very different lifestyle from you can be). this guy, we'll call him jacob (as in wrestled the angels) was a real slut (can men be sluts?). i mean, he slept with a different woman every night. models. blondes. brunettes. redheads. tall. short. skinny. fat. anorexic. regular sized. good looking. he said they were all gorgeous. and i suppose he was right. anyway, he prided himself on being able to get any woman into bed in less than four hours. i never saw him fail, either. not in years.

at any rate, all this to say, (and all my women readers will surely join together to shout "TYPICAL!" at this)he judged all the women he had been with on what he called the "dump scale". that meant, how they compared to a good dump. 1 was a beer shit first thing hangover morning. and 10 was thanksgiving day, ate more food than that little whale-eatting girl from the shel silverstein poem and have been holding it back till burst relief. anyway, whenever someone asked him out his night went, he would always reply, kind of cocky "oh, she was a good seven."

we would all mock disbelief at what we thought must have been a high number to his standards and someone would try to be encouraging and comradly with him (though i dont suppose he needed it) and say something like: "that good?"

and he'd say "oh she wasn't whale eatter good, but she was good."

the funny thing about him was that he wasn't even particulalry good looking, totally mediocre in everyway as a matter of fact, except for this one thing. he was the pied piper of west slope colorado. i can't remember the last time i talked to either of them. i dont know why i thought of this. but i thought you should know about the imporatnt roles that shit palys in our lives.

but of course, don't forget what frued said: "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." good luck.

2003-08-07 | 2:16 p.m.
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