Warning: This post contains content about caca. Yes, poo. Seriously.
So I’m a bit sick — my stomach rumbles and grumbles — but I’m not coughing and I can taste and smell (bah, Covid!). I will survive.
Of course sickness is all around, both mighty and minute. To wit: A friend recently texted that she had a little accident. She had, reader, sharted. “It was unreal!” she exclaims, as if she’d been visited by an impish spirit or heard her dog speak Urdu. “And I couldn’t tell if I shit through my underwear into my jammies and onto the sofa!” (She’s suffering minor diarrhea, the dear. Aren’t we all?)
Why I find this hilarious, I really don’t know. A big part is the source. This comes from my most gentle, compassionate, God-fearing friend, the apotheosis of angelic. The idea that she even poos is incongruous to her purity. But as the popular childrens’ book declares, “Everyone Poops.” Still.
Poop is funny. Farts are funny. Sharts are hysterical. Sometime ago, my brother gave me as a gag gift (he was only half-joking) “The Encyclopedia of Poo,” a handsome photo book of “one of ‘civilized’ society’s last taboos,” which presents doo-doo from a cross section of creatures, a delectation of defecation. We had a good laugh. (Fun fact: Wild animal dookie is weaved with grass and bone bits.)
Beyond that scat-tacular tome lie infinite examples of fecal fun: Jeff Daniels’ volcanic sphincter in “Dumb and Dumber”; the fart ’n’ beans scene around the fire in “Blazing Saddles”; the photo site RateMyPoo.com; Nicholson Baker’s protagonist cutting “a loud, curt fart like the rap of a bongo drum” in the miraculous novel “The Mezzanine”; my brother, as a child, crapping in the bathtub while I was in it with him (thanks!). Like a case of trickling incontinence, it doesn’t stop.
Yes, it’s kids’ stuff, shamefully immature, tsk-tsk, bippity-boppity-boo. Yet I can still snicker, even when it pertains to me. My friend can, too. The texts about her fecal fountain came with the emoji that’s laughing to tears: 🤣
As I hinted in the start of this post, I’m also enduring some seismic abdominal activity. It’s really not that hilarious when you’re the victim, so I empathize. I do not want to be the poster child of poo, and neither does my gal pal.
We are for the moment comrades in caca. And she is the unwitting co-star in what is possibly my least genteel blog post. I apologize to her and to anyone who got this far. Normalcy will return. Guts will stop gurgling. Giggles, however, will certainly not.