Thank you, Craig!

Anonymous Poo found this story on the Best of Craigslist and has to admit that she couldn't have made up a story this good.

Set in a public restroom somewhere in New York, an anonymous man searches for - and then finds - the perfect toilet stall and lets a fart rip, horrifying the man talking on the phone in the stall next to him.

A teaser:

"Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently."

You must read the story. It will make your day.

A doubly-deep hole

u-dig-it camping trowel from Ron's Detectors.

Believe it or not, Anonymous Poo loves backpacking. A few years ago, she hiked from Saddlebag Lake, in Inyo National Forest, to Upper McCabe Lake, in the eastern edge of Yosemite. At an elevation of almost 11,000 feet, Upper McCabe Lake is above the treeline - that high up, (of course) there are no trees, visibility is high, and the ground is rocky.

Which means no woods, no privacy, and no easy digging of toilets.

In case you are unfamiliar with backpacking etiquette, to protect the frail environment and prevent any unsanitary conditions when using nature as your facilities, you should not utilize the same area repeatedly. But this is difficult when you are backpacking with seven other people, there are no trees to shield you, and the soil is rocky. You either have to walk a mile to find an untouched rock to squat behind (if you're a lady), or you have to convince your friends to simultaneously look away while you do your business. Never are anatomical gender differences more pronounced than when relieving yourself in nature.

Anyway, on her first morning at Upper McCabe, AP woke up early and staked a claim behind the largest and closest rock. Her companions weren't pleased. While AP made breakfast (bacon and pancakes and piping hot coffee), her friends plotted out their bathroom usage.

It was finally decided that the remaining ladies had first choice. When Mike (one of the less chivalrous men) objected, Cara (a wispy, 5-foot-tall former ballerina), looked at him, held up the potty trowel, and asked,

"Well, Mike - would you like me to dig a doubly-deep hole? I don't mind sharing."

Mike was quiet for a moment. He had an obvious crush on Cara, but wasn't yet ready for this degree of intimacy. "Umm, no."

"Fine, have it your way." And with that, Cara trotted off to the second-closest rock to do her business.

The moral of the story, gentle readers? Easy - the early bird gets a choice spot in which to park some bark, and gets to enjoy a cup of fresh, hot coffee sooner too.

On remaining Anonymous

Anonymous Poo recently dated a guy she’ll call Marcus. AP and Marcus had a lot in common. Their dates were great – flirtatious and entertaining. They managed to keep a great shtick going for hours.

After a few weeks, things seemed to be going well, so Anonymous Poo decided to tell Marcus more about her hobbies. Over dinner one night, AP leaned in and told Marcus, “I have a confession to make. I haven’t been completely honest with you about my extracurricular activities.”

A strange look passed over Marcus’ face. It was a momentary look of fear, clouded over by a look of curiosity. He took a slow sip of his wine (a nice rose, to go with the poached fish he was eating), then inhaled deeply, and said…

“Hmm… intriguing. What?”

“Well,” AP started. “I have a blog. About poo.”

“Umm… did you just say ‘poo?’”

“Yes. I blog about poo.”

“Like descriptions? With photos?”

“Pshaw. No. Imagine if Audrey Hepburn or Miss Manners blogged about poo. That’s what my blog is like. It’s all very ladylike.”

Marcus paused. “Well, I don’t know how to say this… but you don’t seem like… the type.”

He continued. “It’s just very… surprising. Totally unexpected. I’m not sure what to say about it. It’s just kinda… gross.”

AP was taken aback. What is the “type?” And what’s gross about a little friendly poo banter? She had always believed that everyone loved poo.

And with that one, little revelation, the lighthearted conversations that had made their dates so fun ended. AP and Marcus had entered into a deeper, more serious territory. Marcus wasn’t ready to accept this side of AP and AP didn’t want to pretend to be someone she was not just to get a boyfriend.

So AP and Marcus parted ways, with AP vowing to reveal her alter ego earlier in the dating process in the future. She’s even contemplating creating a match.com profile with the username anonymouspoo and the tagline “I blog poo” to separate the real men from the meek. She knows that somewhere, out in the great wide universe, there's a Mr. Anonymous Poo just looking for his soulmate.

Poo clue

Shall we play a game of Poo Clue?

Anonymous Poo has a friend named Poppy*. Poppy and her husband went away for the weekend, leaving their son Hector in the care of Poppy's friend, Todd.

It seemed like a win-win situation for everyone involved. Poppy and her husband got a weekend away, Hector got to eat all the pizza he wanted, and Todd got to entertain his gentleman friend in a spacious flat instead of his studio apartment.

However, upon her return, Poppy went into the bathroom and noticed a very, very large piece of poo in the toilet. At first glance, it wasn't clear whether the toilet had not been flushed post-poo, or if the poo was so large that one flush wasn't enough.

So, Poppy went into Hector's room and asked him if his tummy was all right. "A crap that large isn't normal for a boy your size," she stated.

"No, Ma. I haven't crapped all weekend. That's Todd's."

Poppy put Hector's claims of constipation aside, deciding to address that issue after she had gotten to the bottom of this mystery.

She called Todd and demanded to know why Todd hadn't flushed the toilet, or, if the poo was a clogging three-flusher, why he hadn't plunged.

Todd was miffed. "It isn't mine. I flush."

Poppy wondered if the poo belonged to Todd's gentleman friend, but not knowing how to reach Todd's friend (and suspecting that Todd didn't know Suspect Number Three's number either), she turned to Anonymous Poo for some sleuthing help.

And now AP turns to you, her dear readers, for your help.

Who did it?

Hector?

Todd?

Or Todd's mystery gentleman caller?

Post your response in Comments.


*All names have been changed to protect true identities.