Ah yes, the shit year that was 2018. Though in fairness, aren’t they all shit these days? Still, ours seemed shittier than usual. For that, we blame our New York Bureau Chief Cooper Fleishman. Ever since he arrived in the late spring, it’s been nothing but a big brown wave of shit coverage. In fact, let’s count the shit pieces he’s personally responsible for (the man is nothing if not full of shit)…
The verdict: Unlikely. As Judith Meer, a physical therapist who specializes in the pelvic floor, explained to staff writer Quinn Myers, “You tend to produce about an ounce of stool for every 12 pounds of body weight — so if you haven’t had a bowel movement in a few days, you might have a few pounds of stool weighing you down.” She adds, however, that she’d “be surprised” if 15 pounds is a realistic weight loss amount.
Where to turn if you do take a mythical 15-pound shit, which is apparently genetic.
When to switch out those poop tools so as not bring dysentery upon your house.
Admittedly, Andrew Fiouzi’s rumination on the sweet, sweet release of shitting the day after getting bombed isn’t exactly a TED Talk but there’s definitely some poetry within. For instance: “It’s a universal experience: Whether you want to call them beershits, DADS (day-after-drinking stool) or a beeriod, the one thing all hangover poops have in common is their inconsistent consistency. Hangover poops aren’t so much hardened stool as they are a black nectar so toxic that even a person who appreciates their own smell is likely to hold their breath.”
Did someone say “beershits”? A little bit of fiber — or a fiber supplement — should vanquish them.
Did someone say “fiber”? We got you covered there, too. After all, what is shit coverage for if you’re not shitting properly?
It turns out, though, you’re not just struggling to shit, you’re struggling to wipe yourself immediately thereafter:
People are so bad at wiping their butts, doctors have coined a condition to mock them for it.
It’s called PAS, or “polished anus syndrome,” and it comes from, in part, Americans’ abysmal bathroom hygiene. After doing our business, we take dry, rough toilet paper and smear poop around our skin rather than wicking it off with clean water. And then when we can’t get clean, we wipe and wipe until we make our butts bleed. (And if you’re a hairy guy, don’t even think about feeling fresh, ever — you’re walking around with tissue clumps stuck to you 75 percent of the time.)
The condition’s more clinical, less evocative names are perianal dermatitis and pruritis ani (Latin for “itchy anus”), and the malady is caused by “overzealous or aggressive hygiene,” which can include use of irritating soaps and lotions and excessive, vigorous wiping.
See? These guys get it. No PAS or perianal dermatitis for them. No sir.
Your built-in excuse as to why you’re not among the aforementioned bidet guys.
It’s called, if you must know, “vooping.” And yes, we made that term up. But that doesn’t make it any less fulfilling — or real. As Myers reports, “I’m talking to a guy called JuulShitt who says he’ll never hit the bathroom without hitting the vape ever again. He’s been ‘vaping since ’12 and shitting since ’95,’ but when he tried them both at once, he says, it was love at first voop. ‘Ever since the porcelain hit my butt and the nicotine hit my body, I was in love,’ JuulShitt says. It’s effortless. A nice buzz while browsing the interwebs and doing the deed never hurts.’”
Obviously, there are other major decisions to be made in the bathroom beyond deciding whether or not to voop.
Another victory for the gig economy!
Another victory for science!
Your morning cup of Joe has long been thought to stir your bowels. Fiouzi, though, took things a step further and injected that caffeine rush directly up his asshole:
At approximately 8:30 p.m. on a cool Southern California Sunday night, armed with a silicon bag full of coffee water and the tip of the plastic tube slathered in coconut oil, I did what the Ancient Egyptians and Romans did before me, and plugged my butt with a water hose.
Once I was approximately an inch and a half deep, I looked up at the three bulbs above my medicine cabinet mirror, released the valve using my free hand, closed my eyes and waited for the brown liquid to crawl inside me.
Then it didn’t hurt.
Then it really hurt.
My insides were being electrocuted by a surge of liquid, and I could feel the shockwaves down to my fingertips. For a second, I thought my body was going to be permanently stuck in the fetal position: Every few minutes, I would yell toward the bathroom ceiling and roll around on the floor as I clenched by butt muscles, worried that I was leaking shit. I thought of the little Dutch boy who held his finger in the dike to save all of Holland from drowning. But while he was a hero, I was just an idiot who volunteered to stick a plastic tube up my ass because I like coffee.
Look at it this way: It saves you from having to get a coffee enema.
Mary Winchenbach is a 57-year-old woman from Maine who makes her living collecting moose turds (or as she likes to say, “tirds”) and turning them into novelty crafts:
While out on a walk one day, Winchenbach came across a pile of scat and thought, Wouldn’t that be funny if there eyeballs on it? So, she collected some of it and did just that. Her first fecal person, or “shithead,” was born. Next, inspired by a clock her dad had given her with golf balls between the numbers, she decided to replace the balls with poop and joke that it was “one-tirdy, two-tirdy, three-tirdy” and so on. She came up with a small collection of items and started selling them at craft fairs, honing her sales pitch with each customer. Over time, it basically became a stand-up routine filled with props and puns.
Now that’s some real shit.