Form follows bodily functionsPosted: Tuesday, March 3, 2009
“I don’t get it. Since when did passing gas become so hilarious?”
Only since there was human life on earth.
—Little Children, Tom Perrotta
I have a very good friend who once confessed to me that he only poops at work. Apparently, it is the American dream to get paid to poop. Why poop at home if someone is paying you to work? Might as well poop on the clock.
I can’t top this, but I highly recommend her post. And for The Icepick, who believes a good day begins with Fortified™ blueberry Pop Tarts and a solid pit stop, it’s a good read. As I said in the comments, I used to believe in pooping at work, until I realized hygiene was not a high concern for some of my co-workers. Or, as Paulie Walnuts once said on The Sopranos:
“[B]acteria and virus migrate from the sole up. … Your average men’s shithouse is a fucking sewer. You look at lady’s johns you can eat maple walnut ice cream from the toilets. Eh! There’s exceptions. But the men piss all over the fucking floor, urinals jammed with cigarettes and moth ball cakes.”
Of course, any poop-related discussion brings the work of the brilliant Dr. Jingles to mind.
Apropos of nothing else, I was later straightening up my office, and (probably with poop still on my brain) purposely came across Beavis and Butt-head’s seminal (heh, heh) 1993 work This Book Sucks, which contains their immortal school psychiatric report. An excerpt:
If you could be any animal in the word, which one would it be?
Butt-head: I’d be a sex animal. But I guess I am already. I guess I’d be a panther.
Beavis: Me too. Or a flying bear. That would be cool.