Facilitating the movement of large, cumbersome and important objects is a prominent skill of the modern gentleman, whether it be mobilizing massive armies into war, transferring funds into offshore accounts or even secretly luring plus-sized dames from bar to bedroom. Likewise, the strong, robust movements of matter through the gentleman’s alimentary internal canals are not only second nature and enjoyable feats, but also signify successful living and good health, and reinforce the general commandments of thoroughness and hygiene. Grand discussions of historical moments in defecation are thusly a regular topic of the modern gent, and can include elements of love, revenge, celebrity, science and overall tomfoolery. Here, we take the time to honor these tales of proud digestion with a sampling of relevant submissions.
A Gentleman Emerges Victorious
ToiletSoldier: So i’m on the toilet right now in studio. There is a guy next to me. Now, naturally you don’t want to take a messy shit with someone next to you. I feel like he got here right before I did because we are now having ourselves a good old fashioned mexican standoff.
ToiletSoldier: I’m not budging. It has turned into an endurance challenge.
ToiletSoldier: Without shitting he whipes his ass, flushes, and leaves. I am victorious.
BaseCamp: I wish I was there to shake your hand…. after you wash it
A Scientific Experiment
Einstein: I have been grossing myself out lately
Plato: how so?
Einstein: if I lick my hand and then smell my own saliva it smells like ass
Plato: hmm… that’s not good
Einstein: but I had my girl test my breath, and it’s fine
Plato: so that means you have ass on your hand and you just licked it. then smelled it
Einstein: and the wetness is re-activating the smell?
Einstein: oh dammit
Plato: has to be
Einstein: I literally could be licking poopy hand
Einstein: this makes sense, since I always poop before lunch and then think it smells from what I ate for lunch
Plato: that’s what I’m getting at
Einstein: but it’s not food
Einstein: it’s waste
Einstein: this is not good
Einstein: I need to set up an experiment. I need a control to lick to test this theory
Plato: like some paper
Plato: or like a shirt
Einstein: licking a post it note… post it smells fine… delightful even
Plato: or you should lick your arm b/c no way there is poop on arm
Einstein: ok ok, hold… I need to unbutton my cuff
Einstein: oh christ. the arm smells fine
Plato: o noooooo
Einstein: get this: my arm smells fine post lick, then I wipe hand on arm to get off the wetness, re-smell arm: straight ass smell
Plato: NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! science has proven you have poop hand. and licked it
Plato: you have saliva activated poop hand
Einstein: this is not a one time thing. this has been going on for weeks
Plato: ha ha ha. well I’m glad i could help with the mystery
Einstein: I need a bottle of hand sanitizer for my desk
Einstein: and mouth
Plato: yes, yes you do
Dick Cheney is No Gentleman!
To: Fellow Esteemed Gentlemen
From: James B Langhorn, Esquire
Subject: My Encounter with the Vice President: By James B. Johnson Langhorn, Esquire
I’d like to preface this email by stating that if any of you doubt the validity of my story, just ask James, Tony, or Chalmers about it — I called them immediately after this happened, just as any of you would have in the wake of such a colossal absurdity. If you truly want a background check, there are two Secret Service agents that can vouch for me, although unfortunately I was unable to get their names or robot codes. It was oneof the weirdest experiences of my life but at the same time awesome.
My current job is at the American Press Club–a deservedly pretentious institution of journalism and media relations that has existed for over 100 years. I have been calling publishing groups to organize the payment methods for their represented authors for a pay rate of $14 per hour, clearly utilizing the skills I acquired for $120,000 at our beloved alma mater. One of the perks of the place, however, is that famous guest speakers are frequently on hand, and I often get to see them up close and personal. The guest speaker for this particular luncheon was Lynne Cheney, and rumors were circulating that her husband, Vice President Dick Cheney, was going to make an appearance.
After the event itself, which was largely forgettable, I headed to the bathroom before going back to work. I was finishing up when two men in suits entered, each sporting dark sunglasses and a white telephone cord behind the ear. They brush by and proceeded to open every stall and inspect, flushing one of them as they continued to probe the lavatory. As soon as one goon whispered “all clear” into his wrist, the bathroom door flew open and the Vice President entered hastily with his hand clutching his gut. Ushered by another service agent, he gives me the slightest head nod as he rifled for the appointed stall.
I idled for a second, spurred by my hangover perhaps, and “feign” vanity as I peer into the mirror before me like a true Chocora Narcissist. Soon it happens. A few noises emanate from that fated stall, sounding off like a bag of pudding rupturing violently, followed by a barely audible vocal contraction. Holy shit! So the second-in-command of our country is not immune to gastrointestinal volatility. If this doesn’t give hope to all you metamucilers out there I don’t know what will. Despite the grossness of the situation (the phrase “geriatric scatology” comes to mind), any pangs of disgust are overruled by the goofy smile I am involuntarily forced to wear. This is obviously too much to take. Shooting for the door, I catch a stern glance from one of the Matrix dudes that conveys the unspoken words, “You better not fucking tell anyone about this.” If I never see you guys again, it’s been real. I suppose its widespread dissemination is just my cross to bear. So there you have it, my encounter with Dick Cheney, that infamous poster-boy for blind adherence to partisan ties. While the occurrence seems rather surreal in my reminiscence, I simply recall Mr. Cheney’s flustered mien and am reminded all too well of the discomfort of an uncooperative bowel.
A Gentleman Plots a Counter-Offensive
FecalFighter: i come in today and Johnson* has all but ransacked my desk for office supplies, something he does frequently when I’m not around (he even took a filing cabinet out of my office without asking)
FecalFighter: now, i find this incredibly rude, and i pointed that out to him, to which he responded, “well, you missed a day, you knew this was going to happen”as if that is acceptable office ettiquette somewhere in the world
FecalFighter: so i told him i was going to take a shit in his office and pee everywhere if he ever missed a day, to which he responded, with quite a bit of gravitas, “i never miss days”
FecalFighter: he then, oddly enough, told me he was going to crap in his own office, as this would prevent me from doing it myself
OfficeWarrior: ok, exactly where did the lies start in this story?
FecalFighter: nowhere, that is the biblical truthe
OfficeWarrior: oh, so now that it’s life or death, you pull out the bible…
OfficeWarrior: ok, even the last part?about the shitting upon ones workspace?
FecalFighter: yes, even the last part
OfficeWarrior: anyone else present?
FecalFighter: sadly, no. the contractors avoid him like the plague
FecalFighter: where is it acceptable to plunder office supplies
OfficeWarrior: he just fucking stuck it to you, man
FecalFighter: i know, he checkmated me. shitting in his own office? he neutralizes my greatest attack
OfficeWarrior: he fucking check-raise-bluffed you all in and you folded like a pussy
OfficeWarrior: he indeed has you behind the proverbial eight ball. you cannot miss another day for the rest of your life. was the smiling?
FecalFighter: he laughed a bit. but the real test is, if he does miss a day, and i actually do shit in his office, his offer to self defecate is clearly a bluff to throm me off the trail. the real test is if he will actually miss a day, and when he does, i have to rise to the challenge
OfficeWarrior: first you have to outlast him.
FecalFighter: or arrange and “incident”
OfficeWarrior: it’s Johnson’s island FecalFighter, and only one of you is gonna come out alive
OfficeWarrior: it’s just classic Alpha male activity, preying on weaker males of the species
FecalFighter: so if i defecate in his office while he’s in the bathroom, what does that prove?
OfficeWarrior: shitting his office, while he’s shitting in the bathroom…. that has an ironic twist that’s just brilliant. i think you just called his check-raise-bluff allin and outdrew him on the river
FecalFighter: of course, if he’s just peeing there, i could be literally be caught with my pants down, this is an epic battle of wits and daring
OfficeWarrior: go take a leak one day and walk out with just your balls hanging out, and begin a stare down to see which one will be the Alpha male. if he look at your balls, you have him for life. if he blinks and keeps eye contact, you might win the battle, but the war is still going strong. if you blink, he will be on you like white on rice and have your nuts in a vice-grip before you can’t say “fag.”
FecalFighter: i’m putting that on the agenda for tomorrow
RELATED: The Gentlemen Defecation Chronicles