OK, so it's not a very lady-like topic, and not really acceptable conversation for dinner at the Pacific Corinthian Yacht Club, I just can't control myself. Things start to feel stuffy (even though we are outside by the water), and I begin blurting out some fine poop trivia. I have a full notebook of personal poop stories to recount. Ms. Red Pants laughs her head off and hugs me. Mr. Bulge in my Tight Shorts just sits there looking from person to person. The people who know me well think it is amusing, although horrifyingly inappropriate. My very favorite, Ms. Licking Lips joins in, adding her own tale of "Virgin Mary Crap". Her husband, Mr. Moving Teeth excuses himself to get another drink, I hope he comes back. One more round of drinks and they start requesting their favorite "party poop" story. Then comes the "Post Office skit" (I have to physically act it out).
Soon people are staring. I guess at "the club" you should exercise some self-control. We call it a night. Ms. Licking Lips and I walk home together and sing songs about body hair. Mr. Moving Teeth has left without us. This is not uncommon, he is not fond of "poop talk". I assure Ms. Licking Lips that he is at home waiting to give her a "Hot Carl". We laugh like crazy, neither of us really knows what that is but we think it involves poop.
I am not sure what makes poop such a taboo subject, I'd like to make it acceptable. Since the "Hampsters are Human Too" group is no longer accepting voluteers, this is my new cause. "Live, laugh, excrete".
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