Well, y’know, poop is relative.
In and of itself, it contains little or no humor value. It is the effect it has on others that provides the humor… although, most often, the humor is of a specifically focused type: the humorous reflex/response to the horror someone else has of the poop in question.
It brings to mind a discussion I had with my wife, not so long ago. The whole thing starts in midconversation when she asks me just what things there ARE that guys discuss that they won’t discuss with women around.
“Lots of things,” I said. “Hell, I know for a fact there are things women won’t discuss with men around.”
“So how do you know about them?” she asked archly.
“Because INDIVIDUAL women will discuss various things with men, depending on the woman in question and the man in question. Happens all the time. I’m not sayin’ there are any Great Deep Man-Secrets out there; I’m just sayin’ there are things men generally don’t discuss with women.”
“Mm-hm,” she said. “The words ‘deep’ and ‘men’ don’t necessarily belong in the same sentence, dear. What things, precisely, do men discuss with each other that they don’t discuss with women? Or are you afraid the Man Club will come after you if you break the Law Of Silence?”
“Honey, it’s not like that at all,” I said. “There’s things that even the dumbest man knows better than to bring up with women around.”
“Mm-hm,” she said again with that yeah-right look on her face. “Name one.”
“Well,” I said, “there was the time that old roommate of mine was lighting his own farts and set his pants on fire. That’s not something you generally share on a date.”
“Mm-hm,” she said. “And you posted that one on half the internet. It’s safe to assume that women would see it there.”
“Well, it’s not the same thing,” I said, feeling a bit persecuted. “It’s text, and it’s the internet, it’s not spouting off over lunch and coffee with the people at work.”
“Mm-hm. And I personally know you’ve used that story to get more than a few free drinks over the years, and I sincerely doubt you restricted yourself to male listeners.”
I said nothing. She had me there.
“So, precisely, what are these things that men don’t discuss with women? Even the dumbest men?”
…and then, it came to me. "When was the last time a man – a male friend or rommmate, for example – yelled at you from the bathroom, ‘COME AND LOOK AT THIS!’ ?"
She looked at me. “Huh?”
*“Come and look at this,” * I cried, falling into character. “This thing is fraggin’ HUGE! Must be TWO FEET LONG, at least!”
She looked at me, still not getting it.
**“So whaddaya want me to come look at?” ** I replied to my own question.
*“Come look at THIS!” * I cried, answering myself.
**“What am I coming to look at?” ** I said, pantomiming reading a newspaper.
*“You GOTTA come see this, man!” * I answered myself again. "I ain’t gonna flush it until you’ve SEEN this motherhonker!"
A look of slow, horrified comprehension crept across her face, as I gestured and jabbered at her.
"Man, I’ve SEEN a turd before," I said, still pantomiming the newspaper.
*“Man, you AIN’T seen THIS one!” * I cried, filled with enthusiasm and pride. “Man, you could sell ADMISSION to see THIS one!”
**“You sayin’ your turds are that impressive?” ** I said, still reading my paper.
*“Dude, THIS one is!” * I burbled. “GET UP! You have GOT to come SEE this thing!”
She stared at me, refusing to believe, refusing to relinquish that one thing left her to cling to, to save her sanity.
**“You ain’t gonna flush it until I come and look, are you?” ** I said, irritably folding my imaginary newspaper.
*“I don’t think I CAN flush it,” * I said, suddenly doubtful. “I mean, I can flush, but I’m pretty sure it won’t go DOWN!”
**“Man, break it up with the damn toilet brush,” ** I said, putting aside my newspaper and rising from my imaginary recliner.
*“Dude, I keep telling you, this is NO ordinary log,” * I said, with some trepidation. “I mean, we may need to send a crew in with wet suits and chainsaws.”
**“Yeah, yeah, heard it before,” ** I said. **“Every guy says his is bigger–” ** I stopped short as I sauntered into the imaginary restroom. I glanced down. My eyes bugged. I blinked four times. "Holy SHAT!"
*“That’s what I TOLD you, man!” * I said, filled with pride once more.
**“Daaaaaaamn…” ** I said, in tones of awe. "Jeez… we’re talkin’ force ten MagnoTurd, here, dude."
She made a strangled *hsnsnkkk! * sound, the sound a small giggle might make if it were not quite able to escape from a woman paralyzed with mind-numbing horror.
“I TOLD you, man! This one is MAJOR!” I said, proud yet reproachful of the unbeliever.
"Um… damn, guy, what are we gonna do with it? I mean, I’m pretty sure it won’t go down, all sideways like that."
*“I dunno,” * I said with a crazy grin. "I been thinkin’ about fishin’ it out and having it mounted. You know, like on a wooden plaque?"
**“Hm,” ** I replied thoughtfully. "That way, you could actually display ‘The One That Got Away.’ "
*“Hey!” * I said. “Good one!”
"Yeah, but I really don’t wanna live in the same house with a shellacked turd, guy," I said. **“Or with a guy with a shellacked turd. Deal with your newborn as you see fit.” ** I turned to leave.
*“Yeah, all right,” * I replied, a little disappointed. “Man, do you believe something THAT big came out of ME? And women gripe about givin’ BIRTH and stuff, man…”
**“Yeah, well, you had a head start,” ** I snapped back. "The ends of THAT thing are pointed."
…and at that point, she finally gave way. :eek:
It was kind of interesting to see. I mean, I’ve never actually seen anyone laughing themself sick while looking like they wanted to throw up, the whole time, you know? And it went on for quite some time, finally dying down to a rapid-fire series of bugeyed, horrified giggles.
Women, be warned. Us guys will sometimes go to extremes to win an argument, you know?
Poop is relative. Believe it.