# The Poop Stories of Legend **URL:** \ **Category:** Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share\ **Created:** [April 21, 2009, 4:25am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814 "2009-04-21T04:25:39Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 20\ **Page:** 1
**Author:** ![friedo](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/f/8edcca/32.png) [@friedo](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/friedo)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 4:25am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/1 "2009-04-21T04:25:39Z")
Let me tell you guys a little something about poop. A few days ago a friend of mine sent me a link a classic Craigslist post entitled "[I wanted to talk to you, but I had to take a shit - m4w](http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/1052207056.html). The hapless craigster’s post begins, > [@craigslist](#): > > Have you ever been just minding your own business, when all of a sudden, you realize that you have to take a shit really bad? Well that’s what happened to me this morning. > > It was around 8 AM today (Thursday) when I was sitting on Metro North and got that horrible feeling. I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to Grand Central. Unfortunately, taking a shit on the train was out of the question. Have you ever seen a Metro North bathroom? My only choice was to sit there an pretend nothing was a matter. Those of you who have ever really, _really_ had to shit know the story is nonsense[sup]1[/sup] at this point. Why? Because of **Friedo’s First Law of Poop**. To wit: 1. The severity of your poop emergency is inversely proportional to your fear of any bathroom. Stated simply, if you’re afraid of the bathroom, _you don’t really have to poop_. Given the fact that the bathrooms aboard Metro-North trains aren’t even particularly bad – they’re comfortably in the zone between 40-year-old cross-country Greyhound bus and small regional airliner – we can conclude that this dude’s story doesn’t even rise to the level of poop emergency _poseur_. A couple weeks ago, I went to see a movie with a different friend. I think it was _I Love You, Man_, which seems oddly appropriate somehow. After the show, we dined at a little Italian restaurant which we hadn’t been to before. I had the lasagna. It was good. After consuming said delicious meal, we walked along 42nd Street towards the Times Square subway station, so that we might take our leave of one another and retire to our separate abodes. It was somewhere in the midst of this perilous journey, at one of those fungible brightly-lit locations between Port Authority and Broadway, that I felt The Rumbling. I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. It’s that bloated yet hollow feeling of increasing pressure in your large intestine that makes you stop dead in your tracks, gently place your hand upon your belly, and exclaim, “oh my.” If pure dread were a physical sensation, it would be The Rumbling. “Fuck,” I opined. “I really need to take a shit all of a sudden.” “Okay,” my friend replied. He was never very much help. I remembered that after the big Times Square Station renovation project, which was undertaken back when this city was flush with cash, a number of public toilets had been added to the station. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Taking a shit in a public bathroom _in a New York City subway station?_ Surely, you must be mad. But I hadn’t developed sudden onset mental illness; I needed to shit. And don’t call me Shirley. “Besides,” I reassured myself, “it’s not like these shitters are open to the public. You have to request a key or something.” I read somewhere that they keep them clean. Plus, they were relatively new. How bad could they be? My friend departed to take the appropriately named Flushing Line back to Queens. I continued on, now looking forward to the presumably pleasant adventure of using a Times Square toilet in all its glory. I went to the little corridor where I remembered they were located, and encountered a metal grate. Upon this grate was an engraved sign which informed me that the lovely free toilets cease operation at exactly 12:00 midnight. I looked at my watch. Now, I’m not one to brag, but I happen to possess a sophisticated timepiece which sells for five figures[sup]2[/sup]. I consulted my atomically-synchronized chronometer and came to the incontrovertible conclusion that it was exactly 11:56. Bastards. So I had no choice. I would ride the train back home to Brooklyn and drop my deuce there. I was confident. Certainly the healthy, well-toned 27-year-old muscles surrounding my anal sphincter could withstand this sudden onslaught of trouser chili pounding against it like teenage girls outside the doors of a Jonas Brothers concert. Fortunately, the Q arrived quickly. I boarded, found a spot, and sat down. This was a deadly mistake. As it turned out, I had inadvertently turned the very forces of Gravity against me. For as I shifted my assular orientation from standing to sitting, the full weight of the chunky sundae in my colon was brought to bear. Oh my. I encountered a dilemma. Do I continue to sit, with every wheel-clacking train vibration sending shivering spasms of horror directly up my asshole, or do I attempt to stand again, possibly loosing a toxic load of diseased manure upon the innocent bystanders on that lonely, cold, fluorescently lit Q train at a quarter past midnight? This brings us to **Friedo’s Second Law of Poop** : 1. A person’s IQ is directly proportional to the severity of their need to poop. It’s true. Having to shit really bad makes you smarter. I didn’t realize it at the time, but in the space of approximately six minutes, I had analyzed over 61,000 best-path solutions to an acyclic directed graph representing the entire New York City subway system, _sans_ rush hour services, with an overlay indicating all known public bathroom facilities in a four mile radius that were open past midnight. It was time to act. Carefully, with a mental focus so intense it would decapitate the bastard love-child of a Jedi and a Vulcan, I stood up. I managed to contain myself, and disembarked at Union Square. BTW, you know how I’ve described the sensation of sitting down under these circumstances? Well, I’ll leave up to the imagination what it feels like to climb stairs. I made it to the surface. For a moment, the cool night air felt refreshing on my sweaty brow. Then I remembered why I was sweating so much in the first place. I looked around. I hadn’t remembered Union Square being so eerily quiet at night. The businesses and restaurants were all closed. I remembered, however, that there is a convenient McDonald’s franchise somewhere around 15th Street that is open late. Simultaneously, I made two terrifying realizations. First, the Mickey D’s in question was on the other side of the square. Second, I was beginning to have contractions. Never having given birth (I lack the requisite uterus, vagina, and sex life), I do not possess an adequate frame of reference to compare the feeling of my impending shit explosion to, say, squeezing a miniature human out of a hole which previously accommodated an erect penis. Nonetheless, I am confident the comparison is apt. The faster I walked, the more frequently my butt muscles would spasm. The longer I took, the more urgent my need. Truly, Euthyphro himself has never encountered a greater dilemma. I made it to McDonald’s, and I made it to the men’s room. I’ll spare you the humiliating machinations involved in acquiring the key thereto. Upon entering, I executed The Maneuver. That brings us to **Friedo’s Third Law of Poop**. 1. A person’s speed, grace, and agility approach infinity as his control over an impending poop approaches zero. This rule is also known as **The Great Asymptotic Ballet of Poop** , which brings us back to The Maneuver. I am sure you have all executed this maneuver at some point in your life. It occurs when, in the space of mere nanoseconds, one closes a door, unbuckles one’s belt, pulls one’s pants down, puts the toilet seat down, pirroettes, and places one’s ass in the general vicinity of the crapper, all while simultaneously achieving sweet, sweet release. Verily, a poop of legendary proportions issued forth. Sweating, out of breath, shivering, and crying tears of joy, I felt, for the first time, spiritually filled with a unique kinship for all mankind. Then I noticed they were out of TP. [sub] 1. You might even say bullshit. 2. If you include the cents. [/sub] ---
**Author:** ![Stealth\_Potato](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/d78d45/32.png) [@Stealth\_Potato](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Stealth_Potato)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 5:34am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/2 "2009-04-21T05:34:43Z")
_Slow clap_ **friedo** , I believe I speak for everyone when I say that you have spoken with as much eloquence and erudition on the subject of poop as any man could ever hope to achieve. ---
**Author:** ![Nurobath](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/n/a88e57/32.png) [@Nurobath](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Nurobath)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 6:47am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/3 "2009-04-21T06:47:28Z")
That was awesome. Well done **friedo**. Also, **Stealth Potato** is an interestingly appropriate user name for a first responder here. ---
**Author:** ![Stealth\_Potato](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/d78d45/32.png) [@Stealth\_Potato](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Stealth_Potato)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 7:18am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/4 "2009-04-21T07:18:03Z")
> [@Nurobath](#): > > Also, **Stealth Potato** is an interestingly appropriate user name for a first responder here. I’m not sure I want to think about the implications of that. :dubious: ---
**Author:** ![Olentzero](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/o/90ced4/32.png) [@Olentzero](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Olentzero)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 7:38am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/5 "2009-04-21T07:38:55Z")
Reminds me of the time I walked home to Georgetown from the Brickskeller after having made a night of it… no money for a taxi, everything closed, my sphincter doing the “can’t… hold out… much… longer” trope from all the bad action movies ever made. 1.5 miles of trying to move my legs from my knees on down. I found an open toilet the minute I hit campus, then went home… still being rather drunk and drenched in sweat, my roommates were absolutely convinced I’d fallen in a fountain somewhere. ---
**Author:** ![missred](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/missred/32/14096_2.png) [@missred](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/missred)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 8:08am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/6 "2009-04-21T08:08:29Z")
Bravo, bravo…well put. The timing of this thread is impeccable. Being on a round of high powered antibiotics, my own internal eco-system has had me doing the find-a-commode-cha-cha a lot recently, so I readily identify. ---
**Author:** ![BellRungBookShut-CandleSnuffed](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/b/bcef8e/32.png) [@BellRungBookShut-CandleSnuffed](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/BellRungBookShut-CandleSnuffed)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 8:20am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/7 "2009-04-21T08:20:17Z")
> [@friedo](#): > > Those of you who have ever really, _really_ had to shit know the story is nonsense[sup]1[/sup] at this point. Why? Because of **Friedo’s First Law of Poop**. To wit: > > 1. The severity of your poop emergency is inversely proportional to your fear of any bathroom. > > Stated simply, if you’re afraid of the bathroom, _you don’t really have to poop_. I bet you if that guy had [tried the fish](http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/51760058.html), he’d be on those Metro bathrooms like stink on something that stinks real bad. ---
**Author:** ![Dead\_Cat](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/d/9fc29f/32.png) [@Dead\_Cat](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Dead_Cat)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 11:40am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/8 "2009-04-21T11:40:24Z")
That was superbly entertaining. The last line was as perfect as it was unexpected - it shouldn’t, I suppose, have been unexpected, but it was to me. ---
**Author:** ![brewha](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/b/91b2a8/32.png) [@brewha](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/brewha)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 12:50pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/9 "2009-04-21T12:50:29Z")
Nicely written Friedo. Sadly, I know your pain. Awhile back, there was a question posted on this board. What feels better? A good bowel movement or sex? Here’s my response - which seems to fit this thread well: > [@What feels better: a good bowel movement or sex?](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/what-feels-better-a-good-bowel-movement-or-sex/385035/37): > > There is a point to the following story, so bear with me… > > A group of my friends and I went on a snowboarding excursion over winter break while I was in college. Because it was winter break, we had been drinking heavily the night before. We got up early on this fateful day and because we had been up late the previous night, I drank several cups of coffee on the way to the slopes. > > This was a particularly brisk December morning, and because of this, I was wearing several layers of clothing. From the waist down, I was wearing long underwear, jogging pants, jeans, and snowboard pants (this will come into play later). > > As an obvious foreshadowing, I have since discovered that lots o beer + plus cheap coffee = sudden and explosive projectile diarrhea. > > So, there I was, on the opposite side of the resort. I was going up the ski lift, when I got the first signs that something was amiss in my bowels. I decided that it was just a bit of gas and went down the hill on another run. On the next trip of the lift, I realized that it was more than just gas and that I would be in need of a restroom in the **very** near future. > > I had two options. I could hike the ridge back to the chalet, or I could go down the slope, and get on the lift at the other end of the resort that takes you back to the chalet. The first signs of impending doom happened on the way down that run. I knew I was in trouble and needed to get to a bathroom as quick as possible. At this point in the slope it diverged, one side was a nice intermediate run and the other was a black diamond. I took the black diamond, tucked down, and rode my board as fast as I ever have. For those of you unfamiliar with snowboarding – speed is really not your friend. > > I get to the bottom of the slope and have enough built up inertia to coast across the flat and get to the line on my ski lift to relief. I sit down on the lift after an unusually brief line and thought that I was home free. Here’s when two problems presented themselves. First, this was the lift that serviced the beginner runs. This meant that inexperienced boarders and skiers would be getting off the lift at the top and, more often than on any other lift, piling it up right in front of the exit. The lift would stop every time this occurred and it seemed to stop after every other chair. > > At this point, I was sitting there in complete agony – clenching my sphincter for all it was worth. I was trapped by the chair lift and it seemed an eternity between the lift stopping and starting. It had gotten up to full speed as it passed over the pulleys at one of the support poles when the second problem hit me. When the chair goes over these pulleys, it gets this quick up and down motion that seemed to be trying to shake the crap (literally) out of me. > > After decades of riding the lift, I finally reached the top. I slid down the slope at the exit and as soon as my board slowed to less than running speed, I unstrapped the bindings and kicked the board off. I booted it in the general direction of the board storage and made my way – as fast as I could – to the chalet. I thought I could run, but it is impossible to do with your butt cheeks clenched tightly together. I speed-hobbled to the bathroom and busted into the first stall. I got my board pants undone then my belt and jeans button. I grabbed the string that tied my jogging pants tightly to my waist. I was literally sweating at this point and felt like I was about to explode. I tugged the string and it KNOTTED. I feebly started pulling at the knot with no progress. With shear desperation, I grabbed the waist line of the jogging pants and yanked. The string broke and everything else came down with one pull. > > My ass shot a stream like a fire hose before my cheeks even touched the toilet seat. I plopped down, completely exhausted, and breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling I had at that point could only be rivaled by sex. > > So, to answer your question, I’m not sure but it can be close. ---
**Author:** ![Clothahump](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/51bf81/32.png) [@Clothahump](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Clothahump)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 2:14pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/10 "2009-04-21T14:14:42Z")
Everybody subscribe to this thread, because I’m sure we’ll start seeing references to the The Laws Of Poop in the future. Y’all excuse me…I gotta go poop. ---
**Author:** ![Kickback\_Joe](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/k/cdc98d/32.png) [@Kickback\_Joe](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Kickback_Joe)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 2:34pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/11 "2009-04-21T14:34:40Z")
Nice call **Clothahump**! I now have to go as well. **friedo** Thanks for an, um, inspiring(?) thread. ---
**Author:** ![Southern\_Yankee](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/southern_yankee/32/2800_2.png) [@Southern\_Yankee](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Southern_Yankee)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 2:56pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/12 "2009-04-21T14:56:44Z")
I may change my screen name to _assular orientation_. ---
**Author:** ![tdn](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/t/94ad74/32.png) [@tdn](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/tdn)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 3:01pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/13 "2009-04-21T15:01:42Z")
> [@friedo](#): > > This rule is also known as **The Great Asymptotic Ballet of Poop** , which brings us back to The Maneuver. I am sure you have all executed this maneuver at some point in your life. It occurs when, in the space of mere nanoseconds, one closes a door, unbuckles one’s belt, pulls one’s pants down, puts the toilet seat down, pirroettes, and places one’s ass in the general vicinity of the crapper, all while simultaneously achieving sweet, sweet release. One must approach the maneuver with caution, especially when the words “explosive” and “projectile” come into play. Doubly so when the words “kim chi” and “miso” played a part in your recent past. Placing one’s ass **in the general vicinity** of the crapper can sometimes lead to the words “sponges that must be thrown away”, “several showers later”, and “Are you fucking kidding me? I have to clean the _ceiling_?!?” in your near future. I feel fortunate in that this scenario has only happened to me in my own home. I have nightmares of the words “Um… Bob?” ---
**Author:** ![Shark\_Sandwich](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/f04885/32.png) [@Shark\_Sandwich](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Shark_Sandwich)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 3:04pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/14 "2009-04-21T15:04:41Z")
Thanks for the laugh, **friedo**. Man, I don’t know why I find poop stories so funny, but I sure do. ---
**Author:** ![gonzomax](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/g/e8c25b/32.png) [@gonzomax](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/gonzomax)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 4:42pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/15 "2009-04-21T16:42:59Z")
I toss in a corollary. When you are walking your dog in the park, the frequency of squirrels is directly proportional to your need to dump. You get a couple miles away and feel a lump building and think , if we go straight home and keep calm I can make it easily. Then come the squirrels, herds of them. The dogs are whiplashing your arms as they want to attack. then rabbits get in the act. they don’t really come out in the afternoon much but they make an exception. They smell something. fear ,distress or something different, poop. Some people must think I am being mean to my doggies when i force them to march doubletime to the home. ---
**Author:** ![VunderBob](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/v/839c29/32.png) [@VunderBob](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/VunderBob)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 6:04pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/16 "2009-04-21T18:04:36Z")
[This story](http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705298541/Frightened-burglar-soils-himself.html)is somehow appropriate for this thread. ---
**Author:** ![Malleus\_Incus\_Stapes](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/malleus_incus_stapes/32/3293_2.png) [@Malleus\_Incus\_Stapes](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Malleus_Incus_Stapes)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 6:15pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/17 "2009-04-21T18:15:38Z")
> [@friedo](#): > > Verily, a poop of legendary proportions issued forth. Sweating, out of breath, shivering, and crying tears of joy, I felt, for the first time, spiritually filled with a unique kinship for all mankind. > > Then I noticed they were out of TP. Well? You can’t leave us hanging, man. What did you do next? ---
**Author:** ![tdn](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/t/94ad74/32.png) [@tdn](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/tdn)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 6:23pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/18 "2009-04-21T18:23:03Z")
> [@VunderBob](#): > > [This story](http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705298541/Frightened-burglar-soils-himself.html)is somehow appropriate for this thread. So the thief came right to the cop, huh? Delivered himself better than if UPS brought him. And the cops still had to give chase, and even had to use nightvision goggles to find him? That’s some nice police work, Lou. ---
**Author:** ![scout1222](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/34f0e0/32.png) [@scout1222](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/scout1222)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 7:10pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/19 "2009-04-21T19:10:31Z")
> [@Clothahump](#): > > Everybody subscribe to this thread, because I’m sure we’ll start seeing references to the The Laws Of Poop in the future. Oh please. I’d made the decision to subscribe pretty much immediately after reading the thread title. ---
**Author:** ![dactylic\_hexameter](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/d/d26b3c/32.png) [@dactylic\_hexameter](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/dactylic_hexameter)\ **Post date:** [April 21, 2009, 7:22pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814/20 "2009-04-21T19:22:12Z")
> [@Malleus\_Incus\_Stapes](#): > > Well? > > You can’t leave us hanging, man. What did you do next? I can’t speak for the OP, but in a similar predicament, I sacrificed my underwear for use as TP, threw them away in an outdoor bin, and went home commando. [Next page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/the-poop-stories-of-legend/493814.md?page=2)