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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.