The Phantom Shitter

This story comes to us from funfreepages.com. It's specifically regarding "the phantom shitter", but that's close enough for me. A humerous story from the author's youth. This reminds me of a story from my own youth growing up in South Florida. But that's for another day...

Go back a year and 10 months from now. I just started grade 10 (Secondary 4) in a new school. It was a dirty private school, the one where hallways smell like ass and kids are generally dirty. The washrooms didn't have soap.

Anyways, I'm one of those people who use the washrooms frequently. I drank a lot of caffeine, so I pissed 5 times more than anyone else. I was, in fact, the guy that first entered the washrooms each morning (I turned on the lights even!). I also happen to be quite observant and notice things quickly. So here's the situation.

I enter the washrooms, like usual, only to be faced by one of the most intriguing, yet disgusting, mysteries of my entire school life: Who shat in the corner stall?

I swear, it shocked me beyond belief. Someone, in this very school, just took a shit on the floor. Immediately I thought about how such a thing could happen. Was someone trying to NOT sit on the seat and shit in mid-air and accidently fell to the side, delivering a turd on the already piss coloured floor? No, of course not! The hole was pretty big. Hmm. No one that I knew of had the guts to purposely shit on the floor; or so I thought.

I quickly forgot about this event.

Only it wasn't the last time it happened.

For the rest of the school year, someone purposely shat on the floor, weekly, causing unimaginable cleanup woes for the janitor.

I had only one lead though. Some kid in my grade, called Marcello (Italian) who was pretty big and dareable. Once, I remember taking a piss and he was on the other stall taking one too, only he didn't aim for the bowl. He must've had a monster cock or something, cause by golly, the whole wall was covered in urine. He sand-blasted that shit, paint was coming off or something. Anyways, that was a pretty funny moment.

Now, let's go 10 months back. My grade 11 education begins. My last year in High School, only the mystery still hasn't been solved.

Marcello got suspedned my school and was placed in the second campus, which was where "bad kids" would go. He was still part of my school's board though, so he came along field trips.

Now, a month after school began, we had a field trip (which sadly was the only one we had the entire year...). We were going up north, somewhere cold, in the middle of nowhere, to camp out in cabins. A three day field trip with two nights, with our closest buddies from school.

The Phantom Shitter struck us again.

The entire class was there, at the toilet; it was a big scene. I kept hearing the "ewws" and "blehs" and whatnot from everyone. I was laughing though, since I'm a sick twisted invidivual who laughs at everything.

My laughter was soon cut off when Marcello greeted me saying "you find that funny, eh buddy?". I said "haha fuck yeah man, whoever did that has got guts..." and that's when it finally struck me.

Marcello did it.

He explained me how he carefully skipped classes to partake in such a massive, risky task. Every week, he slipped out or skipped class to take a shit. I told him I always wondered who did it and it was good to know after all these months. He told me to keep it a secret.

For the following two days, he shat on the floor almost hourly. I swear, the cabin was smelling like dick.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I finally solved the case of the mysterious shitter.

The end.

Japanese song about pooping in a bathtub

Drew Daniel over at Pitchfork media has this review of Bathtub Shitter's song "Brown Santa":

I know you're already thinking, "That Japanese scatological metal band made a Christmas record? Awesome!" But wait-- it gets better-- because it's got an a capella track on it. On previous outings Bathtub Shitter teased us by leaving a little clump of Masato Morimoto's abject, preposterous growling and yelping vocals to stick out at the tail end of their songs here and there, but now they've offered up a whole minute of him serenading without any bandmate backup. Naked, shivering, and alone. A handy lyric sheet is provided so that you and your neighbors can carol along with Masato as he asks an important question about the titular Brown Santa: "Would you receive his present?" Chew on that one.

Only 2.5 stars. I haven't heard the song, but my tastes for Japanese metal are vast enough to listen to everything.

I can't find this band on amazon or allmusic so maybe they don't really exist.

my white whale - the office mystery shitter!

This story comes to us anonymously from over at craiglist.org:

You are ever so elusive - able to leave behind incredible evidence of your journeys into the office bathroom, yet nimble enough to never be spotted. I know you are here though, this sea is not a mighty one, and I can sense you lurking. Maybe you dart by me when I walk down the hall, or maybe you linger in a cube across from me... Your activities in the bathroom are legendary.

Let me just say, for those who are not familiar with our shared waste recepticle area, that it is a meager room and unfortunately the only such recepticle on our floor, and thus our company. Its two stalls are far from comfortable, at least for my squeamish tastes. The one in the back of the bathroom is the handicap stall, large, expansive, and equipped with a modest magazine collection, arguably palatial. The other is precariously situated *in front of* and to the side of the handi-stall, it is thus, the gunner stall - exceptionally small, cramped, crowded, and far from private. You can actually see into the hallway when sitting on the gunner's toilet when someone opens the bathroom door via the large gaps between the stall's partitions. Also, if someone in the handi-stall were to lean forward while on the can they'd have a view of the gunner's ass through said gaps.

So as one has probably already realized, the handi-stall is by far the more preferable, albeit dauntingly spacious, of choices one has when required to purge the great intestinal factory. Now, a few weeks back I, heady and full of pep, rushed into the handi-stall only to find that some monster had exploded what must have been a bomb in the toilet. No water remained. Only the remnants of what appeared to be some charred, blackened organic mass. Surely this had to be an act of vegenence or hostility. What poor beast had been sacrificed to deliver this awful message? As I fled in a panic back to my cube the horrible reality of what had occured sunk in... I relegated myself to the gunner stall.

A week or so passed... Finally, I had had enough of the monkey cage when I dared return to the waters of the handi-stall. Surveying the scene quickly and from a distance, everything looked clear. For a few days I lapsed back into feeling secure in using handi-stall. That false sense of security was smashed when one day I happened upon a floater! This was no mere turd. Incredible as it was, I once again fled in terror. I was unable to comprehend the reality of witnessing such a sight. Was it really possible that some creature of the deep had left behind its spoor unknowingly?! How could this possibly be? Surely the creature wasn't trying to display its excretory stature for all to see, or was it?

Again, I was forced to forgo the modest security of the handi-stall until my nerves were sufficently calmed. I made the long awaited voyage back into the deep, and once again for a short period of time all was calm. Until last week! If the first two incidents were storms in the sea of communal defecation, then sir, this was surely a typhoon of titanic proportions. Unimaginable, but all too real - poop on the seat.

There it was, left behind for all to behold. It wasn't even on the backside of the seat, oh most unholy of follies, it was on the side! Despite the predomaniance of evidence left behind by this most diabolical of beasts, I have yet to sight him. Its savagery is matched only by its stealth. And yes, it continues to lurk in the shadows of the office sea. Who is it? When will it strike next? Who's hand should I avoid shaking? I know you're still out there; part of me needs to know which one of you is really the mystery shitter - the white whale. Mind you not out of sheer curiosity, but rather out of a longing for safety and avoidance of all that is vile. Part of me fears that very knowledge.

Lord only knows what evils have been exacted upon that innocent stall and erased from history by the unfortunate cleaning crew. Please, out of kindness for their sakes, please(!) leave these waters pure and untainted. Until our next transient encounter... I'll be out there, vigil, alert, yet shattererd of nerve.

This is a common experience I fear. There are other office workers living in fear for the experiences like this. I too, have plotted which stalls are best in the office buildings where I work. After many years, I know which stalls are most likely to be open. Which executive washrooms don't have working locks. The madshitter knows all these things.

Teenage mad shitter

This story comes to us from mike on tuckermax's message board...

I have no shame. I will shit anywhere, anytime. If I have to go, make way, I'm going to go. Some of the more disgusting bathrooms I've gone in:

-Penn Station: New York City
-Restroom off of I-80 around the Akron area
-Giants Stadium: Rutherford, New Jersey

My most interesting place, the sand dunes at Robert Moses beach, Long Island. I was around 14 or so, just strolling along the beach with some friends and it hit me hard. I really panicked, we were a long way from the changing/bathroom area. There was no possible way I was going to make it. I thought about heading for the water, dropping my bathing suit and just letting it go, and let the salt water clean me. No go, way too many people in the vicinity. I have no shame, but I also have no desire to be pointed out as a mad shitter in public. Oh, I forgot to mention, we were on our way to see the nude beach, since at the time, our 14 year old minds were starting to peak. Had we known that we'd be viewing a bunch of fat old jews, we would have passed.

So I finally get to the point of no return. I needed to find somewhere or risk losing it, and doing the walk of shame back to my family with shit all over my leg. Up ahead a group a stoner hippies had just left their circle a long with some sheets to head to the water. I quickly grabbed a sheet, sprinted up the sand dune and went to town. I finish up, clean up, and being the nice guy I am return the sheet. We quickly took off and I almost fell over I was laughing so hard.

I know how he feels about being in public. I once had a friend who could only defecate at home. He would drive 45 minutes home from work to drop a deuce.

South Park devotes an episode to the mad shitter...

and crackpot 9/11 conspiracies.

On Wed, Oct 11, the South Park "Mystery of the Urinal Deuce" Episode revealed that Stan is an incarnation of the mad shitter. Stan defecated in the elementary school urinal because he was in a hurry.

This episode also has some comedy on the conspiracies trying to tie the Bush administration to September 11th and a Hardy Boys spoof (who solve the "Mystery of the Urinal Turd".

Here's a link to a legitimate video sample: teaser trailer. Here's the same stuff and more on youtube.

Part 1


Part 2


Part 3

Cell phone shitting...

I found this post over at mountainsanatorium.net because I thought it was mountain santorum of spreadingsantorum fame (thanks Dan Savage).

Anyway, thanks "Pedro":

Here's a little ditty about something that happened to me today at work.

So, I score my favorite stall today and I'm psyched. Dude walks in and, of course, picks the fucking stall right next to mine. Great. THEN I hear "What's up man?" Not a bit amused by this random dude's attempt at camaraderie, it takes me by such surprise that my sphincter contracts and pulls a king Solomon on a steamer that's half way to freedom. Great. Don't you hate it when that happens. You wind up having to wipe like 50 times just to feel remotely clean.

Anyhoo, I ignore his attempt at stall-to-stall conversation and he blurts out "I can hear you." Whoah, now this is just getting down right creepy. You can fucking hear me? Hear me shitting?? At this point I'm willing to flee without wiping, but it gets worse. "So what time you wanna meet up tonight?" At this point I've had it. I'm being propositioned by a dude taking a shit at work. I so don't need this.

Then it hits me. Fucker's talking on a cellphone WHILE TAKING A SHIT. You know when you're on the line w/ your girlfriend and she takes you into the bathroom and you can hear her pee. I'm fine w/ that. But first, not only do I not carry my cellphone to take a shit at work, even if I happen to be on the line w/ someone and I go into labor (so to speak), I just say "I gotta run, dude, I'm late for a meeting" or, quite honestly, if it's an old friend I'll just say "Lemme call you back, man, I gotta take a dump."

In retaliation I violently flush the toilet numerous times and can only hope that the guy's buddy on the other line was like "are you talking me while taking a shit at work, dude?"

I can't w/ these people anymore, I just can't . . .

Dictionary definition

So, some friends of mine were trying to define what exactly is a mad shitter. Some thought it was only those who shit in their work places. This is the place of the overworked, under appreciated, deadender who has no resort left but to shit on their bosses.

Others feel it is anyone who uses their shit as a weapon (monkeys not included). So this will include the bastards who constantly loved to plug up my high school toilet by stuffing the john full of paper towels then running a poo train on the toilet. It must have been some football team hazing incident.

But I think it boils down to an act of frustrations and passive aggressiveness. Here's urbandictionary's definition:

A Mad Shitter will generally defecate in unusual areas such as hallways, offices, workshops, and the like. Such actions are meant either as amusing pranks, or as a method of retribution.

It works out good enough for me.

Mad Shitter is on the ocean

Posted by "poop-per-ee" as "At Sea With The Mad Shitter" over at poopreport.com.

I spent four-and-a-half years proudly serving my country aboard the USS Enterprise. If you've never been aboard an aircraft carrier, let me try to describe the environment. Everything is painted gray or white. Cables, pipes, and valves jut out or pass through every wall (we call them bulkheads). No decor or any sort of "softness" in the architecture or accoutrements -- just steel covered in paint. The hum and type of activity is very much what you'd find in a factory -- a hellish factory, a factory run by some demon CEO with a perverse preoccupation with cleanliness and gray and white paint. Boredom pervades every nook and cranny of a naval vessel. The brass keeps you working anywhere from twelve to sixteen hours a day (only eight hours on Sunday); and in those few precious hours when you're not working or sleeping, there is hardly anything to do. Some sailors spend this time chatting, others in pursuit of education, or religious enlightenment, or crafts, or so on.
On one cruise we had a sailor who entertained himself by guerrilla shitting. He would go around the ship, find an unoccupied room (we call them spaces), and take a dump right on the floor (deck). He was known throughout the ship as The Mad Shitter. I think only in the Navy could someone attain folk hero status merely by shitting.

The first discovery of mad shitting occurred two weeks into the cruise -- cruises typically last six months. A sailor had gone into the bathroom (the head) to take a shower; and there on the floor was a coiled brown monster. This guy immediately called his shipmates in to see the turd. Photographs were taken and good fun was had by all, except for the poor bastard responsible for cleaning the head on duty at that time.

The Mad Shitter got more and more brazen as the weeks wore on. He even took a crap out on the Mess Decks -- a kind of public thoroughfare -- although how he managed that, I have no idea. This mad shitting was a huge morale boost for the ship. It provided tons of entertainment. Whenever there was another episode, people would flock to the scene in droves. Can you imagine someone disrupting his sleep or other activities merely to look at a pile of shit??? Sounds incredible, doesn't it? Yet, to anyone who has ever been in the Navy, it makes perfect sense.

These acts had an almost mystic quality about them. You could swear that no one had entered a space, or that too many sailors were around to execute such an attack -- and yet, right there, almost as if by magic, a turd would suddenly manifest itself!

Other locations struck by the Mad Shitter included telephone storage boxes. These boxes were scattered throughout the ship and contained a sort of "strap-on" telephone that we would use during General Quarters. Whenever there was a GQ drill, word would go throughout the ship as to whose telephone had been targeted.

Another favorite of his was to take a crap in someone's helmet. These helmets were stored at every GQ station. It was great fun to watch the poor victim discover a coiled-up turd in his helmet just before placing it on his head.

Towards the end of the cruise, there were so many episodes of mad shitting that there must have been copycats. My personal favorite was the time when we were painting one of our spaces. There were four of us painting, and we each had a five-gallon can of white paint. In the middle of this, GQ was called, so we closed our cans of paint and rushed off to our GQ stations. When they secured GQ, we returned back to our painting job. When I opened up my paint can, I saw it: there, floating in the paint, was a mini-turd. The Mad Shitter had struck again! It had been sitting there long enough that a brownish corona of feces had leached into the paint, forming a halo around the turd.

But more was to come. As each one of the guys opened his own can of paint, we discovered the Mad Shitter had targeted all four of us! I can only imagine how acrobatic his sphincter must have been to parcel up a turd into four equal portions; but somehow, he managed it.

All this fun and frivolity came to an halt about a month before the cruise ended. Like Icarus, The Mad Shitter reached too far and overstepped the bounds of propriety. There was a passageway on the ship called Officer Country -- only officers could use it. One evening the Mad Shitter placed a depth charge right at the entrance to this passageway. Heretofore, he had just attacked enlisted spaces -- but now that he had dared to desecrate the officers' spaces (gasp!), the captain pulled out all stops to catch him. Twenty-four hour guards were posted all over the ship in just about every space. NIS was brought aboard. Coercive lectures given to the crew. Rewards were posted. And more. In fact, the ship's capability was greatly reduced due to taking sailors away from their normal duties (air cover, operations, cryptography, etc.) and assigning them to shit patrol.

The identity of the Mad Shitter was never discovered.

But if I ever met him, I'd shake his hand (after handing him a clean wipe) for providing us with so much entertainment on an otherwise-monotonous six-month cruise.

Even the combined might of the US Navy is unable to capture the mad shitter. The mad shitter is elusive and immune to the man's power.

Madshitter strikes the EPA

Pat submitted another report from internalmemos.com. Is it ironic that the EPA cannot even protect themselves from the omnipresence of the mad shitter? I don't know, ask a literalist.

HQ Emergency Notification
To: Federal Triangle Broadcast (AR, Customs, ICC, RR)
08/21/02 09:25
cc:
Subject: Security Incidents in the EPA East Building

FROM: Morris X. Winn, Assistant Administrator
Office of Administration and Resources Management

TO: EPA Federal Triangle Complex Employees

Over the past several days, employees may have heard of incidents occurring in certain employees' work stations regarding an apparent deposit of human bodily fluids on computer keyboards and work areas. Members of OARM's security and health and safety staffs have brought in the Federal Protective Service (FPS). In addition, affected employees and their managers have been briefed. I wanted to share appropriate information with all of you to try to minimize fear or confusion.

We take these incidents very seriously and our primary concern is the safety and security of all of our employees. Our security and health and safety staffs have involved the FPS and obtained the assistance of other Federal law enforcement entities regarding protective security and other appropriate measures. The fluids have been analyzed by professional forensics laboratory staff and do not pose a threat of health risk. Nonetheless, our immediate goal is to stop any recurrence and to identify the responsible individual. I have been advised by the FPS that it is not advisable to provide further specific information, but I want to personally assure you that we are taking every available step to address this situation and will keep you informed of any further developments. If you see or have seen any suspicious or unusual activity, please call EPA's Security Command Center at 564-2205.

PS- Isn't InternalMemos run by Pud over at fuckedcompany.com?

Not really madshitter, but verbal diarrhea

This isn't actually a story of the mad shitter, but this movie contains entertaining stories on everything else. This movie was one of the greatest movies of the 1990s and it is finally released on DVD (as a Criterion even).

The verbal diarrhea in this flick is actually the good kind. If you watch it and don't like it, I'll give you more money back.