V is for Victoryless

I have a love/hate relationship with automatic flushing toilets. They’re fantastic because of the obvious– no physical contact with the toilet flusher. In a perfect world I go in the stall, do my business, and as I’m pulling up my pants the evidence that I was there immediately vanishes into

Christmas Cheer

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even my bowels. The TP was hung by the toilet with care, in hopes that a dookie soon would be there. My intestines were twisted, turds heavy as lead, while extraneous amounts of pushing

Perfect Poo

My stomach started to make the diarrhea gurglings while I was at work. I swiftly left my desk and made it to the toilet seconds before my ass erupted with what felt like thousands of poo shrapnel shooting into the bowl. My butt let out a few bubbly, wet farts