Well, she was frugal, so it makes sense. Not uptight though, hmm.
Is it weird that I find Frank's poops adorable? Sober post, honest.
All the tampon talk from 2008 still gives me a slight erection, if I'm being completely honest. And this seems like the thread* for that sort of thing I suppose.
One time I shat at my old drummer's new house, our first jam in some years right after he moved in. It didn't work out so well, except for the floor, if the floor wanted to be covered in shit, which it soon was. Damn '70s plumbing. Damn me and my thoughts of "I'm sure it will all go down by the third flush!"
To the best of my knowledge I've never even attempted to stand up to wipe. I'm a lean n' reacher from way back (hiyo!). Campsquatshitting is the best way for health and stability, except that one time I pooped all over my shoes. Fucking dolt.
Pooping is much, much different at 180 pounds as opposed to a festive 225 and climbing. That whole The Move thing? That was daily life for years for me. As soon as I became vertical each morning I had less than 3 minutes to make my way to the baffroom before Horror #1 was unleashed. These days I have a solid hour, sometimes two, in which I can take the option at my leisure. Less downward pressure from gravity I suppose? That is one theory, although I still carry a bit of a gut, so maybe it is something else. Any ideas here, Nurse Jonathan?
A year or so ago I tried a probiotic diet. That involved ingesting some very semen-esque liquid every morning in the hopes of dietary fidelity throughout my respective upper and lower GI tracts, all part of my lifelong battle with acid reflux and other gut-related oddities. It didn't seem to do much health-wise, however of specific note were the absolutely uproarious bigfarts that vaulted out and down from my rectal region each and every day, at an exactly increasing rate of time (with day 1 occurring 1 hour after consumption of said probiotic seminal fluid, day 2 at 2 hours later, day 3 with 3 hours, etc.). They were absolutely massive, vocal, and downright hilarious. Each one came out of nowhere, receiving no more than a 5 second warning of EXTREME pain, quickly followed by the drunken tuba-and-trombone version of Tuvan throat singing at great volume, pressed rapidly toward the floor and bouncing upward with exemplary echolocation execution. No smell, no mess, just hilarity. Good times, I wish I had them recorded somewhere.
*forum