That magnificent deuce

It was a crap like any other crap. Two small pieces, and one longer but not extraordinary piece. I rinsed my butt with the bidet, flushed, and walked away. Can't remember whether I washed my hands. Probably not.

Flushing took the little pieces, but when I returned to pee a few hours later, the long log from my earlier visit was still floating.

I aimed at it, tried to carve my initials into it, and then pondered the Golden Brown Rule ("If it's yellow let it mellow, but if it's brown flush it down"). What I'd just dribbled was yellow, but the floating fudgesicle convinced me to flush, and this time I watched as it circled the bowl. My man-manure bounced and rebounded against the bottom and sides of the toilet, but when the swirling had finished, the poop remained, floating triumphantly.

Waiting as the tank refilled, I wondered what I'd eaten, to produce such a buoyant dropping. Then I re-flushed, but again my deposit was returned.

Well, I wasn't going to waste my morning flushing over and over again, so I wandered back to bed and went on about my remarkably unremarkable day, and life.

When I got up to pee a few hours later, my long smooth dingy was still at sea, and when I'd peed and flushed, again the brown didn't go down. I began to be impressed.

On my next visit I sprinkled it again and flushed, but I was rooting for that toilet twinkie. It tumbled and twirled and submerged, was almost sucked under, but it bobbed up again. Like Rocky Balboa or Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping," that doodoo got knocked down but refused to stay down.

By bedtime I had flushed my morning missile seven times, yet still it persevered. Twice overnight I peed and flushed, and by morning the bathroom stank of it, but my yesterpoop was undefeated.

I considered stabbing at it and forcing it under and down, but that would be dishonorable. Instead I christened it Sir Deuce, and decided that it was welcome in my home. I wasn't going to go easy on it and stop flushing, but no extreme action would be taken. That resilient turd had earned my respect.

Philosophically, we're all adrift in this life. It's difficult to fight against the current, but if you believe in anything, believe in yourself. Even when everything is against you, you're still unique, worthwhile, and you deserve to be here, just like my dookie.

♦ ♦ ♦

Toward its end, tiny bits of Sir Deuce began flaking off, and in the final flush, it was tragically broken into two pieces, and both were swirled away.

That piece of shit, though, had stubbornly stayed afloat for twenty-six hours, unsunk through eleven out of twelve flushes.

I've had bigger, longer, more difficult bowel movements, but never one I'm so proud of, and never one so profound as that magnificent deuce. 

Republished 4/5/2024   


  1. https://www.continence.org.au/bristol-stool-chart

    1. This one was type 3.

      Love the chart. If I'm ever flush again, I want to buy it as a poster for the bathroom.

    2. "flush again" haha


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