Muck Tales

When I look back at my short yet utterly worthless life, many of the worst things that have ever happened to me have occurred in the toilet.  Please understand that these events are not through any actions of my own, but through the negligence and inconsistency of others.  The main story I wish to share with you (the others are far too traumatic to divulge), is that the case of The Phantom Pooer.

The Phantom Pooer is one of those urban legends, like Cropsey or Slenderman.  It is an entity that can enter a bathroom stall and achieve the kind of supernatural feats that simply could not physically be performed by a human.  All cultures seem to have their own versions of this, such as El Poopacabra in Latin America, or known as Lavatore by the Italians, it seems that every corner of the globe has been peddle dashed by this poo felon at some point.  I have had several run-ins with this waste vigilante in the past, many of which have left me wishing for a shower in sulphuric acid.

The most recent poo crime scene I witnessed occurred at the cinema.  Entering any bathroom is always a daunting prospect.  Will the toilets be clean?  Will anyone try and look at my doodle?  What type of air freshener will they be using, if any?  These are all troublesome thoughts upon entry.  However, my worries were compounded when I saw someone running out of there holding his nose and gagging audibly.  Without an alternative toilet solution I ventured in anyway, assuming that the previous visitor must have had a weak stomach.

The toilet:  The most used image on Muppets For Justice

I was dead wrong.  A scene that can only be described as a turd autopsy had occurred in one of the two bathroom stalls.  This predominantly brown Jackson Pollack replica was primarily composed on the back of the toilet seat, but had managed to make its way all around the back wall and across the cubicle sides.  It seemed that very little had actually reached its destination in the toilet bowl (hopefully, that was the intended target).  As a little garnish, a solitary sheet of toilet paper was stuck proudly to the rim.  I couldn’t decide if this little flourish was a calling card, or if the perpetrator had attempted to clean it up before saying “fuck this” and running away from his futile duty.

I know I’m not the only person who has experienced such scenes of bowel-tensing terror.  At my previous job there was talk a mysterious pooer who regularly left neat little curlings on the rim of the seat.  Was this person trying to get back the company?  Or, as I suspect, is it a creature yet uncategorised by science with an agenda beyond our comprehension that is leaving these puzzling poops?  Perhaps this is our first contact with alien life, and this is how they communicate.

I believe it’s time for an international enquiry into these phenomena.  Have you ever stumbled upon a poo crime scene?  Was the perpetrator ever caught?  Together we can wipe out this menace with the 2-ply of justice.