Can O' Whup-Ass

This Week in Poop Part 17: You Only Poop Twice

• THE NAKED POOP LADIES OF EBERHOLZEN: One day, two classy broads from the German hamlet of Eberholzen decided it would be a good idea to go to a cow farm, fill up some panty hose with cow poop, and use the resulting "poop bombs" as party favors at a celebration marking the German soccer team's victory over Turkey. Unfortch, their plan went awry when they fell into a cow poop tank, crawled out, fled to the surrounding fields and discarded their clothes. Local authorities have been instructed to be on the alert for a duo of poop-smeared frauleins romping au naturale across the idyllic countryside. Are these two hot babes single? Speaking of which, has anyone seen Merkel lately? Where exactly is she? Hmmmm...
• THE GEORGE BUSH POOP PLANT: Reagan and JFK got airports. Eisenhower got a tunnel. Hell, even Hoover got a dam. Now, the cheeky hell-bound liberal sodomites of San Francisco will be voting soon on whether to re-name the Oceanside Sewage Treatment Plant after our beloved leader George W. Bush. As Southern Methodist University in Texas is mounting an enormous protest against the proposed GWB presidential library, the butt-humping hippies of San Francisco seem to be 80% in favor of the Dubya Poop Plant. While cynics believe it's a partisan attempt to besmear Bush's hallowed legacy, others simply like the thought of sitting on their thunderbox and sending their poop to the Dubya with every flush, thus reversing a tiresome eight-year trend.
• THE POOP HOUSES OF KARANPUR: Next time your VCR isn't working and you're losing your temper with Vishna Vindaloo (aka "Fred") on the other end of the "help" line, remember that it's entirely possible that the poor schmuck lives in a poop house. In some areas of India it's not at all unusual to find a village constructed entirely of cow flop. Cows, of course, are worshipped as deities in India; so perhaps it's considered enlightened to live in a split level bungalow made out of holy sh*t. However, isn't India hit by about 40 monsoons every other week? How exactly do cowpie cottages hold up (or not) during the rainy season? Unless they've taken to mixing cement in with Bossie's cud, this practice strikes us as highly impractical. Oh, and gross.
• EAT SOME CHINESE POOP FISH: China, which has lately given the world poisonous toothpaste, lethal dog food, dangerous toys and killer pharmaceuticals, is also exporting poop fish. Aquaculture (or, the practice of farming fish) is a huge industry there. Unfortch, many of these fish farms have raw sewage dumped into them on a daily basis. Chinese fish account for a large percentage of the fish sold in the U.S. So that yummy plate of "Southern Catfish" you ordered at Bubba Gumps could very well have gills caked with "recycled" mu-shu pork, if you get our drift.
• THEM OL' POOP FIELDS BACK HOME: The great state of Iowa, recently ravaged by storms and flooding, has another cross to bear. It seems that every sewage plant (and, ickily enough, hog poop reservoir, of which there are apparently oodles) overflowed and emptied into the flood waters. Health officials are now telling everyone who came in contact with floodwaters to see a doctor. We hate to add insult to injury (actually, we don't); but Deuteronomy tells us to bury our poop, because God walks among us and is HIGHLY averse to scraping our poop from his sandals. So if indeed God walks in Des Moines (as folks in Des Moines insist He does), He prolly has pig plop oozing betwixt His toes and is getting more pissed off by the second.
• AND FINALLY: Zimbabwe is holding elections today. Robert Mugabe (who smells like poop, looks like poop, and turned his nation into poop) is widely expected to win, as his goons have intimidated the opposition to the point where they've withdrawn from an election they would have otherwise won. Folks are being forced at gunpoint to go to the polling centers and threatened to memorize the serial numbers of their ballots, so that their vote for Mugabe can be later verified. Misery holds dominion over this God-foresaken nation, which only a few years ago was the shining beacon of post-colonial Africa. We here at COWA are pacifists. But can't someone bust a cap in the noggin of this despotic lump of hyena crap? The world will cheer.

Happy Pride, bitches
XOXO
WAM

This Week in Poop Part 16: Poopteen Candles

• THE POOP SPITTER OF HUNTINGDON: An inmate in the Huntington Country correctional facility is being brought to trial on criminal harassment charges. Why? Because a year ago, in what was apparently an interactive performance art piece designed to underscore the plight of our nation's incarcerated, Anthony Gray swallowed some of his pee and poo immediately before being ushered into a room with three corrections officers. He thereupon proceeded to barf his pee and poop into their faces. His audacious performance was ill-received. One hopes the misunderstood artiste has since discovered either a non-fecal means of expression, or Scope.
• TYRA'S TOILET TIPS: As Bobby Brown proved when, on national television, he related the enchanting tale of how he crammed his arm all the way to the elbow up Whitney's butthole in a chivalrous attempt to dislodge a jack-knifed turd (and also, we presume, to search for that missing crack pipe), Americans have a deep fascination with the bathroom habits of prominent negroes. Always one to capitalize on a fad, Tyra Banks has graciously shared her secret tips on how to squat in a public facility without endangering your butt or your panties. Her unashamed willingness to talk about such topics apparently emboldened a misguided contestant on "America's Next Top Model" to make pee-pee in a pair of adult diapers in a decidedly odd attention-grabbing gambit. Because as Marc Jacobs or Karl Lagerfeld will tell you, urine is the new black.
• RUSSIAN SPACE TOILET ON THE FRITZ: Zero gravity has many advantages. One may do the hippity-dippity Moonraker-style, for instance. Girlie-boobs and man-boobs are notably perkier. But the astronauts currently confined to the international space station for a months-long assignment are learning the downside of weightlessness because their Russian-made toilet is all broke and stuff. When a space toilet is defunct, jiggling the handle doesn't do the trick. These are complicated pieces of equipment, which whisk extra-terrestrial pants plop into special holding tanks (which, once full, are presumably jettisoned to plummet into Bangladesh or Tuscaloosa or some equally malodorous slum where no one's likely to notice). Now that it's broken, the space folks have had to think of new and inventive ways to drop the kids off at the pool, as they are all eager to avoid the unpleasant notion of wrangling a herd of turds as it drifts into the lab. These are the ultimate "floaties." We now ask the obv: why did we put the toilet in the hands of Russian scientists? Didn't they give us Chernobyl, the Kursk, the Mir and Uri Geller? They even took a diverting game like roulette and made it decidedly unpleasant. If it were up to us (as we rather think it should have been), the Russians would be in charge of Vodka detail. And maybe they could have been responsible for the dressing used on space salads. But that's it. Thankfully, the last shuttle mission included what's likely to be the most expensive plumber's appointment ever. Send the bill to Putin (pronounced "poo-tin"). 
• THE PORT-O-POTTY SWIMMER OF LEBANON: One hot day in the dazzling metropolis that is Lebanon PA, a 31-year-old gentleman decided it would be a good idea to lock himself in a port-o-potty, remove his clothes, and go for a swim. Unfortch, his blithe dip hit a snag when the poor schlemazl got stuck. He was somehow able to reach his cell phone (kids, if you're going to swim a few laps in an outhouse, always bring your phone; a safe poo-swimmer is a happy poo-swimmer), whereupon the fire department was summoned. After his thrilling jaws-of-life rescue, the scrappy gent was charged with public intoxication and creating a public nuisance. No word yet on whether the prosecutors intend to charge him with being a nasty-ass bastard.   
• DRESSING FOR SUCCESS, THE CHARLOTTE WAY: Meet Artive Freeman. The 24-year-old gentleman is currently representing himself in a murder trial now underway in gorgeous downtown Charlotte. On the first day of trial, Mr. Freeman entered the courtroom in a nicely tailored suit and tie. He had also smeared his own poop all over his face and hair. Taken aback by Mr. Freeman's copropheliac grooming habits, the Judge questioned whether Mr. Freeman was maybe a tad retarded (ya THINK?), and ordered the nice young man to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Perhaps he's learned that rich folks are enjoying nightingale poop facials in the world's most exclusive spas. Alas, nightingales are frightfully rare in maximum security. The resourceful gentleman, making allowances for his complexion, bunted.
• THE POOP TRIAL OF LOS ANGELES: In other news of legal/fecal (lecal?) intrigue, one Ira Isaacs is about to go on trial for obscenity in Los Angeles county (isn't that like prosecuting a man for being an alcoholic in Dublin?). The prosecutor has promised to torment the poor jurors by subjecting them to Isaac's cheeky oeuvre, which includes fart fetish movies, classy bitches taking turns giving it up for a donkey, and (most importantly) pooping on each other. Although Mr. Isaacs has expressed worry that the jurors will send him to prison for being nasty, others suggest that since his LA-based video business does a killing, at least some of the jurors will be forced to sit through their second (third, fourth, fifth, etc) viewing of "Hollywood Scat Amateurs No. 7" (more widely known as "Hannah Montana").

This Week in Poop Part 15: Fiddler on the Poop

• JURASSIC POOP: At a recent auction in New York, a chunk of dinosaur plop sold for $960. In a related story, John McCain's campaign finance people have asked the superannuated wife-honorer to stop flushing his Geritol-enriched loafs.
• POOP THE FRIENDLY SKIES: Gokhan Mutlu is suing JetBlue. Why? Because the pilot, in a scene that recalls Bogie's "strawberries" scene in "The Caine Mutiny," informed the oddly-named air traveler that a stewardess wanted to sit in his seat, so he'd have to ride the toilet from San Diego to JFK. When Mutlu objected, the pilot threw a diva-riffic "I'm the boss of this plane and you have to do what I say" tantrum, so Gokhan had to go to the can for the remainder of the flight. Unfortch, as we know, most toilets don't come equipped with seatbelts (although Tammy Lewis in the following story might have found such an innovation useful). So when the plane hit some turbulence, poor Mr. Mutlu was shaken about in the flying outhouse like beans in a maraca. The upside? In addition to his lucrative lawsuit payday, Mutlu (covered head to toe in that odd toxic airplane toilet water) now enjoys the honorary title of "Mr. JetBlue."
• GONNA BE IN THERE MUCH LONGER, GAM-GAM? Here's a bedtime story for the kiddies: Once upon a time (March 4, to be exact), in the dazzling kingdom of Necedah WI, whilst Tammy Lewis was in the loo helping grandma into her depends, the old bird started acting all dead-ish. Tammy, concerned with her mother's dignity, propped the dirt-bound oldster on the can and consulted her spiritual mentor (one "Bishop Bushey"), who told her to leave dead granny on the toilet, cause Jesus was gonna make her less dead and stuff. Fast forward to May 10: Gam-gam still stubbornly continuing her tiresome "dead-lady" act, rudely decomposing and stinking up the loo. Evench, a sheriffs deputy happened upon the wacky Lewis household and decided that Tammy's children might benefit from not living with gam-gam's corpse. P.S. We particularly appreciate the fact that we found this morsel in the "Family" section of an Orlando news site.
• THE POTTY BUDDIES OF NORTH CAROLINA: In an effort to combat the problem of rude grade schoolers scrawling things like "Miss Blodgept is a poop eater" in their school bathrooms, the principal of Malpass Corner Elementary has issued the following edict: students may no longer poop alone. Instead, they must drop their kids off at the pool in pairs or as a class. As a class?? One hardly suspects rounding up the kiddies for en masse synchronized poop time will promote good behavior. Be that as it may, we suppose we shouldn't be surprised. North Carolina, after all, is a notoriously Republican state. And we know by now how much the Godly GOP likes group scenes in public restrooms. Best condition our future wife-honorers at an early age how to appreciate the time-honored Christian tradition of the wide-stanced cripple stall buddy system.
• THE KOSHER POOP RIVERS OF PALESTINE: Sixty years ago, the founders of Israel decided to create a state devoted to Jewish custom, thus ending the mistreatment of a sorely oppressed people. So they bulldozed the homes of Palestine and shipped their previous owners to concentration refugee camps. Since then, the Palestinians have been generally irritable, rudely throwing rocks at tanks and wearing explode-y strap-ons on cross-town buses. In fact, when Palestinians were graciously allowed to vote on their own leadership, and Israel didn't care for the result, Israel reacted by (among other things) blocking shipment of much needed infrastructure supplies to Gaza, resulting in overtaxed septic systems and consequentially the occasional deadly poop tsunami. Meanwhile, over in the West Bank (aka where Jesus was born), there are dozens of walled Jewish settlements scattered hither and yon. Unfortch, these settlements couldn't be bothered with creating proper sewers, so they simply pipe their poop into the surrounding Palestinian country side. Here's the deal: while we can't claim to understand the mysteries of Jewish custom, Israel gets props for being one of the few places in the Middle East where gays can exist (and a pervy lot the Israeli gays are, btw) without the authorities acting all hang-y, and women can drive cars without fear of being stoned to death. Howev, one doubts that its policy of flooding the farms surrounding Bethlehem with Kosher Jew poo is the best olive branch to extend for a meaningful truce, nor does it support the assertion that Israel is the rightful caretaker of The Holy Land. We're just sayin.

This Week in Poop Part 14: Chariots of Poop

• MUNCHAUSEN BY POOPSIE: Munchausen-by-proxy is a psychological disorder, whereby someone (typically a mother) craves attention so they make their little poopsie-kins sick (at last, light is shed on Britney's habitual "drop my toddlers on their noggins" gambit). In one recent case, a woman in the enchanted kingdom of Australia (where dingos chow on infants like Alpo) supposed she might get some sympathy if she injected some poop into her profoundly unfortunate baby. When the child got gravely ill, doctors found a syringe o' sewage in the woman's handbag. Confronted, this candidate for Mother of the Year asserted that beelzebub made her do it. She has since taken up residence in a generously upholstered suite at the local nut bin. If she returns to a state of mental equanimity, one suspects she's doomed to lose every argument she ever has with the issue of her retarded uterus. Even the simplest spat is likely to end thus: "yeah, well...you shot poop into my veins; take the trash out yourself, hag."
• THE POOP ZAPPERS OF UTAH: In a spectacular act of guerilla conceptual art, three teens from Utah (the state that gave the world Rosanne Barr, The Mountain Meadows Massacre, and Donny Osmond) decided to enter a convenience store, plop a one-gallon baggie of human poop in the microwave, set the timer for ten minutes, and make their exit. The baggie exploded, the microwave ruined, and that particular Seven-Eleven temporarily became a rather unpleasant place to purchase slim-jims and big-gulps. We applaud this audacious artistic statement, which we interpret as a scathingly brilliant reaction to the sterility of chain-store-and-strip-mall suburbia.   
• DAYUM, HO! WHATCHOO BEEN EATIN?  A late entry into the "Mother of the Year" contest has entered the ring. Meet Ritsuko Taniguchi, a Japanese broad who squeezed a baby into the toilet and, in a spasm of maternal affection, tried to flush. Unfortch, her baby was a floater, and ended up clogging the poor woman's commode. Distraught by her inconvenient plumbing malfunction, she wiggled into her Hello Kitty kimono and rang for an expert who met Ms. Taniguchi's claim that the clog was a baby doll with skepticism (a lucky strike; the toilet blockage could easily have been mistaken for Hasbro's recent sensation "Baby Bloo-lips"). Ritsuko is currently performing in live-action re-enactments of girl-on-girl yuri hentai 'toons with Oki Fanoki, convicted star of the underworld cult of lesbian Sumo wrestling.
• THE GREAT G.O.P. POOP DRIVE: Tom Cole, recently-annointed chairman of the National Republican Congressional Committee, is tasked with the responsibility of asking for donations from our great nation's elephant/Jesus party. Eager to return even a small fraction of what our dear leader has been shoveling down our gullets for the last 7 years, one respondant pinched a loaf into the post-paid response envelope and sent it back to Congressman Cole. The Republicans immediately deposited the envelope's contents into their piggy bank, as the donation's worth surpasses the value of the dollar, long since flushed down the crapper by Bushonomics.
• SAY IT WITH POOP: Had it up to here with your uppity in-laws? Are there no words in the English language to adequately express how you feel about your ex boss? What can one give to the man who has everything (and makes a point of reminding you of the fact on a daily basis)? Enter Poopsenders, an ingenious new service that offers a menu of poo-quets one can order sent in complete anonymity to someone who truly has it coming. For inst, say you've had your fill of Sally Kern's hateful rhetoric. Thirty-two bucks will deliver a one-gallon package of elephant plop to her address at 2300 N. Lincoln Blvd/Rm 332, Oklahoma City, OK 73105. Or suppose you've grown weary of the Ken Hutcherson's endless stream of anti-gay bigotry? A quart of gorilla loaf can be mailed for about 25 clams to the Right Reverend's attention at the Antioch Bible Church, 15135 NE 92nd St./Suite 240, Redmond WA  98052. Curse you, Poopsenders! We should have thought of this first! 

This Week in Poop Part 13: There Will Be Poop

• THE SPRINKLE BRIGADE: One day some sensitive (and maladjusted, one assumes) artistes got together and decided it would be a good idea to devote their lives to finding dog poop in the street and decorating it with plastic army men, toy horsies, etc. In other societies, or in simpler times, their bizarre hobby would have earned them an all-expense-paid trip to the Bedlam Club Med. However, oddly enough, their calling has found its niche; this last December, the guerrilla pooch plop aficionados had a show at the Riviera Gallery in NYC, which was swarmed by flocks of poo-starved coprophelial sculpture enthusiasts. They have also published their first book, for those of you whose parlors need only a dog poo art coffee table book to be ready for its Metropolitan Home cover shoot. We find their work to be a scathing commentary on the Bush administration, in that they've discovered a way to dress up poop and sell it to the public.
• HERE, HAVE SOME POO CAKE: Last month in Cardiff, UK ("This Week in Poop" regulars will recognize that the Queen's realm has an abnormal propensity to generate poo news of note), a customer bought a chocolate cake at a pizzeria. Noting its odd aroma and its nutty palate, the suspicious cake eater brought baked confection to local health authorities who discovered that the shop's proprietors had rudely sprinkled human poo on the otherwise lovely gateaux. Although a cursory glance through chocolate cake recipes offered by Epicurious make no mention of this innovative ingredient, we can totally picture Martha providing some, um, organic frosting to a cake before sending it to Rachel Ray with her compliments.
• ARE YOU GOING TO BE IN THERE MUCH LONGER? Two years ago, Pam Babcock of Wichita decided she didn't want to leave her bathroom. In the intervening years, her enabling boyfriend brought her food, water and clothing making her self-imposed crapper exile possible. Unfortch, having spent much of that time sitting on the throne, the classy bitch's ass melded to the seat. When paramedics where called after she became disoriented, the toilet/woman hybrid had to be wheeled into the hospital intact, whereupon a team of expert surgeons extracted the seat from her ass. Ms. Babcock is currently indisposed in hospital. No word yet as to whether she intends to return to her tiled realm, but our advice to her boyfriend is to use the loo while it's available. And while he's in there, it wouldn't hurt to burn a match or two.
• HAVE YOURSELF A POOPY LITTLE CHRISTMAS: On Christmas eve, as much of the world was preparing to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus, an old geezer by the name of Robert Schoff took a stroll out to his septic tank to find the source of a clog. Unfortch, he lost his balance and fell into the opening, getting stuck. His wife alleges that she noticed his feet kicking in the air about an hour later, then promptly called the sheriff's department who rescued the unfortunate sap. But we secretly suspect she watched as it happened, giggling at the kitchen window as she sipped her eggnog delighted by her husband's scatological misfortune. We further suspect she used up several rolls of film on snapshots of that particular Kodak moment before alerting authorities. That'll learn him for giving her a chia pet last year.
• THE WISCONSIN LAUNDRY POOPER: Ronnie Ballard, a totally well-adjusted citizen of Madison, Wisconsin, has issues with his neighbors. So rather than buying a gun and pumping their fannies full of lead, he opted to express his frustrations by embarking on an inter-active conceptual art piece. Mr. Ballard pooped in his neighbors' laundry. He pooped in their shoes. He pooped in their hallways. Unfortch (not many "This Week in Poop" stories are fortunate, are they?) he was caught. In the highly entertaining criminal complaint posted on The Smoking Gun, one object of his targeted poop campaign (a retarded woman by the name of Felicia Walton), proclaimed that she "had not given" Mr. Ballard "permission to defecate in her Reeboks, and was therefore disturbed." While we're disturbed by the notion that Ms. Walton can conceive of a circumstance when such permission would be forthcoming, we are delighted by the judge's instructions to Mr. Ballard to henceforth "only defecate in toilets."
• THE SQUAT TOILETS OF BEIJING: China has poop issues. They make Olympic souvenirs out of panda poop. They have recently passed an ordinance disallowing food vendors to operate in public toilets. Renegade future breakaway nation Taiwan has a popular poo-themed restaurant chain. Their relationship with poop differs from ours, just as their willingness to see a labrador as a potential entree. You see, the Chinese poop standing up. Rather, most public toilets are "squat toilets" with no seats. And when the International Olympic Committee discovered that many of the thousands of public facilities being built to accommodate the games were of the "squat" variety, Beijing was forced to race against time to replace them with sitting models. We westerners are culturally adverse to the squat-like-a-defensive-lineman loaf-pinching method, rather we prefer to sit whilst dropping the kids off at the pool. Just ask Pam Babcock.
• WELCOME TO POO LAKE: There is a neighborhood in Baghdad in which mansions are strewn hither and yon; it was once the enclave of Hussein's inner circle. Now, however, with the nearby presence of US troops, many displaced Iraqis have made these abandoned palaces their home. Unfortch (again with the "unfortch!") the sewer system has long been defunct. So this erstwhile playground of the rich and murderous, transformed by rivers of blood as the war broke out, finds itself transformed yet again by rivers of poop. And although the advancing shores of what the jarheads laughingly call "Poo Lake" are of some concern, the new residents take solace in the fact that few suicide bombers will venture there. In Iraq, poop equals peace. Isn't that right, Mr. Cheney?
• AMBER WAVES OF POOP: Livestock farmers across this glorious nation of ours have taken to feeding poop to their animals. Chicken poop gets fed to cattle, cow poop to pigs, pig poop to chickens, which in turn get turned into McNuggets for your delectable consumption. In fact, to cite just one example, JP Fontenot (VA Polytech/Animal Poultry Science) determined that 2 million tons of chicken splat is served to our beef cattle annually, whose diets now consist of nearly %70 poultry waste. This bold new science is being exported by the UN, touting the use of "recycled animal waste" in livestock feed. Dig into that McWhopper!

This Week in Poop Part 12: O Poop All Ye Faithful

• EAT MY POOP, GRANDMA: In Scotland (land of deflowered Schwinns and men in skirts) a granny by the name of Ethel McEwan came down with a nasty superbug called Clostridium Difficile. So in a spasm of coprophelic sadism her doctors decided it would be a good idea to make her eat her daughter's poop. That's right, in order to restore normal bacteria levels, gam-gam had her daughter's oopsy plop pumped through a tube down her throat. Is it just us, or has hospital food taken a turn for the worse? Perhaps it was that or haggis.
• AND THE OSCAR GOES TO: The world of late has been bewitched by the charms of "2 Girls, 1 Cup," a sly Brazilian romp wherein two cheeky ladies pinch loafs into a cup, slurp down the resulting mister softee fudge blizzard swirl and barf down each others' throats; a fine piece of cinema verite that was recently remade and given the less literal title "Atonement." The auteur behind the masterpiece has shared (in a court declaration) that  his performers sometimes prefer to eat chocolate instead of poop (ya think?). Marco Fiorito, in hot water for distributing obscene materials in the US, is now responsible for 2007's second most viral video, losing out only to Chris Crocker's "leave Britney alone" moment. Indeed, both have a similar effect on our appetite.
• TRAUMATIZED POOP WORMS OF WELLINGTON: When visionary New Zealander Coll Bell invented a new toilet that uses worms to compost human waste (rather than a septic tank), a local official raised concerns as to whether the poor worms were suffering psychological trauma by being forced to eat poop. A worm psychologist (vermicultural expert Patricia Nadu) was promptly whisked in to evaluate their delicate mental status. While the good news is that the worms were happy and reproducing, the bad news is that Ms. Nadu has slipped into a catatonic depression, having realized she gets paid to psychoanalize poop eating worms.
• THE POOP HURLERS OF O'FALLON: Taking a page from the playbook of the infamous Pooping Fingerpainter of Idaho Falls, a group of teenaged conceptual artistes recently created a dazzling act of interactive performance art when they filled a plastic bag with poop, drove to a Walgreens and hurled the bag through the open door. Upon impact the bag exploded, its foul contents splattering all over an alarmed pregnant shopper. We believe that this performance piece (currently untitled but we might suggest "Have Yourself a Poopy Little Christmas") is a brilliant commentary on rampant consumerism in the post-9/11 era.
• BUT IS IT ART? Santiago Sierra, an artist whose previous work includes pumping a German synagogue full of poisonous gas (when Hitler did a similar work in the '30s it wasn't nearly as well reviewed), has outdone himself by creating an installation that consists of 21 enormous blocks of human diddly-do. Currently on view at a London Gallery, the artist claims the aim of the work is to draw attention to the destitute latrine scavengers of India. However, we suspect it's a brilliant ruse on the part of Gaza's Palestinians who at last have found a lucrative means of desposing their excess gonch skidders.

This Week in Poop Part 11: The Passion of the Poop

• DOO-DOO DOLLS: When the people who decide the White House's drug policy (which means drugs taken OUTSIDE the White House; relax Laura, your Xanax is safe) decided that folks should get rid of unused prescription drugs lying around the house, their minds quite naturally drifted to ferret poop. The ensuing brainstorm resulted in an official recommendation that we all hide our unused pills in ferret feces in order to discourage potential garbage diving hop-heads from popping your stale oxycontin. To us, this plan seems to overlook the plain fact that anyone who buys a ferret for the express purpose of rolling their pills into  balls of their pet's oopsy-plop is most likely the sort of person who shouldn't be throwing any pills away as they probably need all they can get. Additionally, it ignores the fact that if an oxy-head will spend an evening on his knees in a truck stop bathroom, he'd likely swallow anything for a fix. Right, Mr. Limbaugh?
• OUR SAVIOR DID NOT EAT POOP: A sensitive group of super-Jesus-y Christians wants to prosecute the BBC for broadcasting "Jerry Springer: the Opera" because it depicts the son-o-God as a poop-eating pervert. This, despite the fact that the Bible itself is a copropheliac's paradise: God tells Ezekiel to eat poop (Ezekiel 4:12), instructs Aaron to burn cow poop as a sacrifice (Numbers 19:4), tells his priests he's gonna smear their faces with poop (Malachi 2:3), then talks some more about poop-eating (2 Kings 18:27). It seems to us that if J-Naz was into poo (and we're not saying he was), that particular apple didn't fall too far from the tree.
• BRIGADOO: In Scotland (are we surprised?), where men wear dresses and hump Schwinns and clone sheep so there will be more for them to boink, there's a new highland sports craze: extreme snow pooping. Yes, it seems fashionable of late for folks to hike into the hills, dig a hole in the snow and squeeze out a fudgesickle. Apparently it's actually a problem; when spring arrives the savory smell of boiling haggis is overcome by the aroma of thawing poo. Although a debate's afoot regarding which stench is preferable, a ranger by the annoying name of Heather Morning has been jigging along the high road trying to convince her fellow Scots to refrain from snow pooping by offering up her poop chute. Cheeky lass.
• DON'T ORDER THE PU-PU PLATTER: When in Taipei the discerning poo-aficianado may dine at the gorgeous Modern Toilet diner, where all the chairs are actually toilets and the food's made to look like poop. It's a chain; there are 12 of them throughout the island and business is booming, the owners are flush. Okay...that is so retarded, our head hurts a little bit. Hold on. Okay, we're back. Fine, Taiwan. Enjoy your little poo themed eateries. But the minute the fad's opposite becomes the rage, (and folks begin flocking to restaurant-themed shitteries) we'll have to ask for our check. Thanks.
• EXPLODING TOILETS: When John Jenkins took a seat in a port-o-san to give birth to a couple oompa loompas, it 'sploded. He's suing. A class action lawsuit is brewing against Kohler, whose model 81100 tends to act explode-y from time to time. Parents of a girl whose arm was nearly severed by an exploding oopsy throne are seeking damages. In England (surprised?) a public loo exploded with such force that it blew the roof off, lifted the surrounding pavement off the ground and damaged the nearby stoplight. And the capper: in Charlotte NC, a family's house was made unpleasant when an exploding commode  filled their house with poo. They called the Charlotte-Mecklenberg Utility Department, or CMUD (that joke is just too easy) to de-explodify their crapper. The family's name? Meet the Colons. Our head hurts.

This Week in Poop Part 10: On Her Majesty's Secret Poop

• DAWN HERB, POTTY MOUTH: In the dazzling metropolis that is Scranton, a woman by the name of Dawn Herb (we could have used some dawn herb this morning) knew her day was off to a bad start when her toilet started overflowing. Understandably enough, she started cursing at the disagreeable commode for turning her loo into an indoor poo fountain. Unfortch, her tirade offended the delicate sensibilities of Patrick Gilman (her next door neighbor and off-duty police officer). Officer Gilman promptly swept in, super-hero-like, and defended the toilet's honor by arresting Ms. Herb for disorderly conduct. She now faces 90 days in jail for verbally abusing her oopsy throne. We secretly hope the court case advances to the Supreme Court. However, we can predict how Scalia would vote. If one can cuss out a toilet, one could cuss out Scalia; it's a slippery -- and very short -- slope.
• DUDE, I'VE GOT SOME CHRONIC BUTTHASH: Attention concerned Moms of America! Kids in the idyllic eden of Collier County (tucked into the armpit of the retarded state of Florida), have found an alarming new hallucinogen. They've discovered a way to ferment a nasty concoction of poop and pee-pee in the sun and inhale the gases collected in a balloon. Street names include: "Winny," "Runners," "Fruit from Crack Pipe," "Leroy Jenkins," "Waste," "Butthash" (our fave), and the imaginative "Shit." We pause now to ask the obvious: What kind of hell is Collier County that its teens are reduced to making this kind of discovery? One shudders to think of how many variations of the recipe were tried before that "eureka" moment. How did the concerned parents fail to notice their little darlins turning into poo-sniffing "shit" heads?
• DAYUM, BITCH...WHAT U BEEN EATIN? Brooklyn, still traumatized by memories of the dreaded Boerum Hill Stoop Pooper, has a fresh nightmare to contend with. Last month, Nadege Brunacci was enjoying her "me" time in el baño, making ucky-poo and washing her filthy bits. Suddenly she noticed a seven foot python in her toilet. The permanently freaked-out woman, now understandably reluctant to take a seat on her porcelain bus, has resorted to using her daughter's training potty for loaf-pinching activities in the foreseeable future. Note to Nadege: lay off the curry.
• ALL THE PRESIDENT'S POOP: When President Bush took a trip to Austria, the Viennese were taken aback by his odd habit of traveling with his own portable outhouse; the Secret Service collects and guards Bush's patootie plop and regards it as a state secret. With good reason: when Gorbachev visited DC, the CIA secretly saved Mr. Ketchup-Head's gonch skidders for covert scientific scrutiny. Likewise, when His Hairiness President Assad of Syria attended King Hussein of Jordan's dirt nap ceremony, those yenta buttinskies from Israel discovered (after sifting through a cornucopia of pilfered Syrian turds), that Assad had cancer and diabetes. Although we rather wish our global leaders would refrain from playing with each others' poop for just a little while, Bush's waste-not-want-not shit collecting hobby has resulted in the animal kingdom making generous donations to his collection.
• SQUEEZE SOME POO IN YOUR SUBARU: Those ingenious Japanese have invented a brief case toilet designed for use while stuck in traffic. It comes complete with a privacy curtain for the more modest folks who are nonetheless inclined to drop their "fat man and little boy" payloads whilst sitting behind the wheel of Toyota at a red light.

This Week in Poop Part 9: Poop Hard With a Vengeance

• GRANNY TRAPPED IN CRAPPER: When Gwyneth Coles (an octogenarian broad from North Yorkshire) stopped by a public loo to drop the kids off at the pool, the caretaker quite sensibly locked her in for the night for her own safe keeping. We applaud the move, and encourage wider usage of public restrooms as after-hours holding tanks for the wrinkle set, as no one really wants absent-minded oldsters roaming hither and yon past sun-down, bumping into things and shuffling about in the dark. The great-grandmother's family eventually noticed her absence, and made half-hearted inquiries with the police for the sake of appearances. Meanwhile, according her story,  the plucky oldster survived the twelve hour overnight stay by "eating biscuits." We hope she meant that literally, and it wasn't one of those quaint British euphemisms.
• POOP-EATING ROBOTS: Elsewhere in the Queen's realm, robotics experts have developed a robot that will run only when pooped upon. Only the British would envision a brighter future to include poop-bots scuttling about serving scones and switching off the telly.
• THE DREADED POOPING FINGERPAINTER OF IDAHO FALLS: The glorious the state of Idaho (home of tap-dancing mens room frequenter Senator Larry Craig) is currently being terrorized by a stealth copropheliac along the lines of the rather unpopular Stoop Pooper of Boerum Hill Brooklyn and the decidedly inconsiderate Serial Pooper of Clickheaton, located in (where else?) England. However, the phantom loaf pincher of Idaho Falls has added a personal flourish; apparently, whoever it is fancies him/herself an artiste. Dazzling abstract expressionist fingerpaintings are the phantom's distinct calling card, executed with a limited brownish palette. Curators at the Guggenheim are considering a retrospective.
• THE TOILET MAN OF SUWEON: When Sim Jae-Duck's mum was about to squeeze him through her shame hole, she dashed to the nearest latrine. Why? Because in Korea (the nation that gave the world the Hyundai and 1001 delicious dog meat recipes) it's considered good luck to sneeze out a womb booger in a toilet (one sincerely hopes the converse isn't the case; we hate to imagine a Hyundai full of Koreans swinging by a hospital to poop in the maternity ward on their way to a casino). At any rate, starting life in a public facility had quite an effect on Sim. While psychiatrists theorize that lots of folks wanna return to the womb (personally we do not; and even if we did, we sincerely doubt our mother would be amenable to the idea), Sim has exhibited an oddly touching desire to return to the toilet; he has built a $1.6 million dollar mansion in the shape of a porcelain throne. One imagines the fights he might have with his wife were he to leave the seat up on the house.

This Week in Poop Part 8: Poop and Let Die

• MMM, THAT'S GOOD COFFEE: In Australia, some folks decided it would be a good idea to feed coffee beans to a civet cat, and brew it after it emerges from the kitty-cat's poop hole. As with all exceedingly disgusting foods, it has quickly become a delicacy; A cup o' French Roasted Tabby Crap Au Lait goes for 50 bucks in the more trendy cafes.
• SPEAKING OF CAT POOP: When the Jack Nicholson/Helen Hunt flick "As Good as it Gets" premiered in Hong Kong, it was re-titled based on Jack's character's name: Melvin. Unfortch, when "Melvin" was translated into Chinese, an unforseen gaffe occurred, and the film responsible for Helen Hunt's ill-gotten Oscar for playing a crybaby shiksa waitress was marketed to unimpressed Hong Kongians as "Mr. Cat Poop."
• PIMP DADDY SCHOOLS HIS BITCHES IN HIS MAD ASS-WIPIN' SKILLS: Terrance Howard (pimp portrayer, yesteryear's Oscar hopeful) told Elle Magazine in an interview that he don't roll with no ho who don't use a wetnap after dropping the kids off at the pool. Regular Charmin don't do the trick. Howard schools his classy-ass ladies in how he likes them to clean their shame zone and oopsy-holes after making ucky-poo and orders them to stock up on wetnaps during their next extra-crispy purchase at KFC. Cause a pimp has standards, yo.
• SEWAGE FOR KIDS: We have stumbled across an amusing website wherein the Metropolitan Wastewater Department invite the lucky children of San Diego to put sewage on their faces. It also includes recipes for food that looks like sewage (sewage soda and sludge cakes are two mouth-watering examples). Although we're not exactly sure why the copropheliac city of San Diego wants its kids to play with poop, the recipes make perfect sense; it prepares the li'l tykes for what they'll be fed on a daily basis in the unfortunate scenario of a Jenna Bush presidency.
• POOP SURFING IN GAZA: Celebrated surf-Jew Dr. Dorian Paskowitz recently delivered fifteen boards to Palestinian surfers in Gaza, a generous act of interfaith philanthropy that momentarily makes one forget to ponder the complications of surfing in full hijab. Sadly, however, the boards may have a more practical use. Gaza's escalating population has sorely taxed its sewer system, the consequences of which were seen last March when a treatment facility exploded, sending a tidal wave of poop through a village which resulted in five deaths and an exceedingly unpleasant rescue and recovery effort. Experts predict that poop surfing is set to become a popular Gazan pastime, second only to missile dodging and rubble-sifting.