A number of bloggers-- bloggers I know and love, even, have felt compelled to tell "poop" stories lately.
For having raised a kid, I have no really good poop stories-- except, kinda, one.
When my family moved into the suburbs, we added a couple of pets to the family, now that we had a yard for them to run in. We'd had a cat and a small dog, Partly, a mutt who was partly black and partly white (my parents had gotten the name from a five-year-old neighbor. When we moved to the 'burbs, she got a companion, a female German Shepard we named Gretchen.
With the addition of a Shepard to the family, the #2 production in the backyard greatly increased. It was all my brothers and I could do to keep up with cleaning it up from the backyard.
And of course, my mother, smartass that she is, had to make sure to access our performance. Inevitably she told us that we had "done a crappy job."
She clearly missed her calling in comedy.
Okay, my whiz stories are much better. They shall follow today, depending on attendance in my later classes.