The Log Blog

We all do it. Let's start talking about it.

Uninvited Guest

This story is not about the actual poop. Though it was glorious, this story is about the experience. After a long day at a swim meet, I decided I would “claim my throne”. It was time to poop. I walk into the Men’s restroom and there is a father and his 7 year old son washing their hands for what seemed an eternity. As they did that, I tried to get into one of the stalls; however, both of them were locked. I look underneath the stalls to check if they were actually occupied. They were both empty. I thought to myself, “This is a bunch of crap”. (pun intended). Then the little kid looks at me and says that he crawled underneath them and locked them. The little weirdo decides to go unlock the stall for me. Now I can finally release my excretes.

As I sit on the pot all of the sudden that little mother trucker peeks his head under the stall. I’m yelling at him to get the freak outta there. He leaves for a second and crawls underneath the stall and stands in front of me as I’m pooping. I yell at this kid, “Dude, what are you doing, get outta here!!!!”

Finally after about 15 long awkward seconds, his dad is finally saying that he needs to get out of my stall and they leave.

They finally left and I could defecate in private. And it was glorious.

-John Johnz

Girls Take on Poop

“I poop. I poop a lot—today I have already pooped twice. I love the feeling of pooping and I’m completely engaged with my poop—I wipe and inspect. I’m not going to pretend to think I’m unique in this—all my girl friends do the same. We even sit around from time to time (if from time to time means everyday) and discuss our poop.

You think that’s gross, right? Well, I don’t. I don’t think there’s anything particularly gross about one of our most natural bodily functions (I mean, unless you’re eating it or wearing it as a hat or something); everyone poops. And being aware of it is a way for me to keep up with my body. Is my poop a wet runny mess sputtering out of my ass? Yep, I’m dehydrated; need to drink more water! Is it bright yellow? Woops ate something bad, or I need to pre-empt this cold and down the vitamins! Is it sort of maroon-ish? Those beets really did a number on staining my intestines—what a curiosity!

Girls also poop in front of each other. My girl friends and I joke (but really we’re completely serious) that we’re not real friends until we’ve shared a poop. Girls also poop when they need to poop. I’ll poop in the toilets at a bar or a club or a cinema or wherever—when you’ve got to go you’ve got to go. I’ve got girl friends that have pooped in the ocean (I really want to do it; apparently it feels really weird) and just on the ground in a natural environment, like the bush.”

-Kat George

You can find her whole post here

Ghost In the Stalls – Olan Rogers

A Good Restroom

Pooping is inspiring. It is one of the few actions that drive men to better themselves, achieve the impossible, and create solutions for the world’s problems. When one considers all the positive elements of pooping, (with no negatives, mind you) it makes me wonder why restrooms are so bland and thrown together. Since the fall of man, life on earth has been a continual struggle to deny the sinful desires of the depraved mind and train ourselves to make decisions that improve society. Some cultures have done a better job of this than others. One of the most difficult impulses man needs to fight is the impulse to neglect the construction of peaceful and enjoyable crappers. If men have good restrooms, they will spend more time pooping. When men (and women) spend more time pooping, all of society benefits.

I will try to summarize what constitutes a good restroom in my opinion:

1. Natural light. Pooping is organic, and I believe the lighting should also be organic. Dark, musty bathrooms are a crime against humanity and should be done away with. Recently my grandma tiled over the window in her bathroom to put in a shower. I nearly cried. The only thing that rivals a poop taken under the light of the sun is a shower taken under the light of the sun. What a shame.

2. Cleanliness. Yes I know this goes against most male’s tendencies, but it’s true. Clean bathrooms are simply more peaceful.

3. Discover what sound is most stimulating to your mind. Everyone is different, but heightening the enjoyment of a poop can be done by discovering what audio companion you need. For some it’s silence, others white noise, like a fan, and many it’s music. In that case, it is your duty as a human to discover what music is most stimulating to your mind.

4. Toilet. Don’t ever think the toilet doesn’t matter when pooping. Ever. The body is made to poop most effectively while squatting (without any aid) So I like to meet it in the middle. I like to have to squat down pretty low to hit the porcelain rim. And it can’t be too small of a circumference. If I feel any risk of my fluids not reaching their targeted destination, there’s not enough room. I even like a small gap in the front in case I need to hock a loogie and spit.

And that folks is my primary four elements to a successful poop. I’m sure I will expand on this later but until then, take it sleazy.

-Harold “Stinky” Dickinson

A Plane Poop

This is a true and horrifying poop story told by a very unlucky investment banker who has asked to remain anonymous. He sent the story to the twitter page “Goldman Sachs Elevator” and we have edited the profanity and re-posted it here:

Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it’s percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn’t more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to poop my pants. “Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five” I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can’t afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.

“Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don’t see a door?” I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my butt. She looks at me, bemused, and says, “Well, we don’t really have one per se.” She continues, “Technically, we have one, but it’s really just for emergencies. Don’t worry, we’re landing shortly anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency,” I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, “There. The toilet is there.” For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, “If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it’s under there. There’s a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that’s it.” At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.

I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The “toilet” seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our client. Our female client!

Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” That’s all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what I’m doing.

Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I’m joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.

I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet’s virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.

I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It’s an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I’m going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that’s not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!” briefly comes to mind.

I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren’t sharing a stall with some guy crapping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry” is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.

Half Defecation

Because I trust the Log Blog and all that it stands for, I feel that I can freely share my poop stories with the general public. I’ll admit that I am not new to pooping. I have been pooping for nearly 22 years now. When I was younger, I often depended on my family to help me cleanse my rectal facility following secretions. Usually after I finished my business, a would simply send out a call consisting of the simple phrase “I am done” from the porcelain throne. However, on occasion, my parents would be out and about doing their own things, sometimes even outside of the house. On these occurrences, I would find myself uncomfortably stranded in the bathroom. After I had exhausted my efforts, it was all I could do to let out a blood curdling scream, “I. AM. DOOOOOOOOOOONE!!!” I am not proud of this, but what is a little boy to do? I can only wonder, since my windows were open, what my neighbors thought I had finished doing and why it required such profound effort to share my success with the entire community.

Sadly, this is not the story I was requested to share with the Log Blog. I am an athlete. With good diet and exercise, I am a very regular customer of the stalls. Recently, I have become injured due to sports. I herniated a vertebral disk between by L5 and S1 vertebrae. You may wonder what this has to do with pooping, but I can assure you that it is quite relevant. Due to this injury, I had a pooping experience that was quite surreal, and perhaps Biblical. Upon seeing a medical doctor, we found it in my best interest to receive a steroid shot to the lower back to relieve inflammation upon my sciatic nerve. It is a very simple procedure where they take a single needle into my back, inject a local anesthetic, and follow it with the steroid. It is really quite a minor operation, but they take precautions and gurney you around in a bed and wheelchair. A few hours after the procedure, I still had numbness in my buttock when nature requested my attendance in the bathroom. I accepted the invitation and promptly sat down on the toilet and began relieving myself. After a few moments, I realized something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t tell if I was pooping. The anesthetic I received was only for one side of my back and I could only feel my right cheek. Due to this, only the right side of my anal sphincter could tell what was going on and my brain was having a terrible time interpreting data from my anal nerves. This was somewhat of a Biblical revelation and the verse Matthew 6:3 came to mind: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your rang hand is doing.” I thought to myself, “This must be what Jesus feels like when he poops.” The right side of my anal sphincter had no idea what the left side was doing. I’ve never felt so sneaky pooping in my life. It was exhilarating. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and with a ghost wipe, skip, and a jump, I was on my merry little way. I cannot wait for my next injection.

-Edgar Allen Poop

The Poopie Post

“One of my earliest memories of this subject was when I was 1 or 2. Maybe even 3, as my memory is a bit fuzzy that far back. One of my aunts had my brother and I in the bathtub, giving us a bath. I was in front, and he was behind me. I remember looking down, and watching with some amazement as a brown log floated slowly between my legs and toward the front of the tub. I was thinking, “Hey, that’s pretty cool”, and I’m sure I could have watched it for hours, fascinated. Just like a leaf floating lazily down a peaceful river. I knew it was mine, so I assume I understood what part I had in delivering this fine work of art to an appreciative audience…

If I’m on the john and stand up afterwards, sometimes I’m tempted to admire my handiwork. Like a wine connoisseur commenting on the bouquet and fragrance of the wine, I make mental notes on the color, size, shape and form of my artwork. Sometimes it’s all jumbled up, and sometimes you have a beautiful swirl like a soft serve ice cream cone. I’m almost tempted to pat myself on the back, until I remember I’ve got a tissue in hand.”

These excerpts have been taken from The Poopie Post by dolphinswithmohawks, who is a pretty cool blogger. The rest of the blog was pretty funny, so check it out!

The Teacup Toilet

This logging took place at the beginning of my summer vacation last year. I was back home, large and in charge. Since it was still my first week back, I was in the habit of getting up early in the mornings and as a result, my mom would leave me some kind of breakfast. This particular morning, I woke to the aroma of eggs and bacon with a side of pancakes next to good ol’ Aunt Jemima and a fresh pot of coffee. I eagerly got out of bed with a grin on my face and made my way downstairs to the tile floored kitchen. This hearty breakfast tasted as good as it looked and I was in heaven for about four and a half minutes. Soon after, my youngest sister came downstairs. Apparently, she was in the shower while I was downstairs and she asked if I could drive her to school. I shrugged my shoulders and said “why not”? I drank what was left of my warm cup of coffee, mixed with rich, vanilla creamer to wash down the sweet, buttered pancakes and went to my old room to throw on some pants and shoes. I ended up taking a quick nap, just a lil’ catnap, and my sister woke me up saying that she only had 10 minutes to get to class. We ran out to my car and as I put the key in the ignition, something felt a little peculiar. The engine roared awake and I stepped on the gas petal, making our way down the street on this warm, sunny morning. With the windows down and a cool breeze running through our hair, we jammed to the musical stylings of Britney Spears’s “Toxic”. Not long after, we arrived at my sister’s elementary school, but I knew there was something in me that needed to come out and it needed to come out now. I tried to hold it in, but it was no use. “BUUUUURP”. Relief. My stomach settled and I waved at my sister as she went in through the double doors. I made my way out of the parking lot, but before coming to the stop sign, I realized that the coffee was not the only thing brewing that morning. I immediately pulled a U-ey and parked as quickly as possible before power-walking into my sister’s school. Casually, I walked up to the front office and asked where my sister’s Homeroom was. They pointed me in her direction and I pulled away as soon as I turned the corner. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. I was getting desperate and began to penguin-sprint, looking for any sign of a bathroom nearby. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel shone bright and I waddled to my destiny. I walked in unbuttoning my pants, and kicked open a stall before coming to a dead-stop. “What is this?”, I thought to myself. “Oh god… They’re tiny. It’s going to be like pooping in teacups…” I chortled at the thought and again shrugged my shoulders and said “Why not”? I squatted lower than I ever had in my whole life, in perfect form too, thanks to my high school lifting class. I unleashed the beast and within minutes I had done something horrible. The miniature ceramic throne was almost filled to the top, and despite my best efforts, it would not flush. My creation stared at me, and I proudly stared back. A sense of accomplishment overfilled me and such pride ran through my heart. I created this. I nodded in appreciation and walked away, the most satisfied a man could leave the bathroom. My only remorse lied in the thought of the poor janitor who would have to deal with this. Truly a force to be reckoned with was the dump in the teacup toilet, but I am sure even the janitor would take his hat off in honor to this monster crap. I waved to the woman at the front office and walked out to double doors, knowing that that day would be a truly glorious day.

-Leonardo DeCraprio

Really Crappy Flash Fiction

6 Word Story:
Spicy burrito. Long car ride. Crap.

100 Word Story:
“Bathroom’s occupied?” I asked hurriedly. Dirty looks from the long line outside answered me. Four cups of coffee and gas station sushi rumbling in my belly didn’t like that answer. Trudging to the back of the line, I could see the future before it unfolded. I wouldn’t make it. The line was moving too slowly; my bowels were moving too quickly. As crowded as it was inside, it looked desolate outside. The row of trees behind the parking lot was looking more and more tempting… Before my rectum surrendered to my poop, I surrendered to my shame. Hey, crap happens.

Flash Fiction

Log Blog App

Not too long ago, we at the Log Blog were contacted by someone who admired our work and wanted to introduce himself. We do not get much fan mail at the Log Blog, so this was exciting. As it turns out, the person who contacted us was on an app team working for Chicago-based app developer, Janitor Ltd. When we found out that they had just released a new app titled “LogBlog”, we felt it would be wrong for us not to do a story on them.

“LogBlog” is the first app released by Janitor Ltd. It is an app that links together a community of people to tell their best #2 stories. Recognizing that such an idea could quickly disintegrate into a crass, pointless source of trash, we were happy to discover that this app retains classy feel while still allowing one to relieve stories and experiences about pooping. As for the app itself, navigation is simple between the Roll, Public Log, Me, and News tabs. . Users can push logs to each other and share experiences with the entire community.

One of my favorite things about this app is the mission statement of the team that developed it. Their mission is “to generate donations through bringing awareness to colon cancer and the lack of global sanitation throughout the world.” We thought that it was great to hear about people who took an off-the-wall idea like blogging about pooping and turning it into a way to better society. Portions of the proceeds are donated to helping those afflicted with colon cancer through Janitor, Ltd.

All-in-all, LogBlog is a classy app with a solid purpose. There’s a free version and a version for $0.99, so check it out.

http://logblog.com/