Lately I have endeavored to make the time I spend in the men’s room a little more interesting. I’ve grown bored with the tired old routines of reading industry mags and making toilet paper origami swans and trying to figure out who’s in the stall next to me by staring at his shoes, so I have decided to become Master of My Own Shit.

I have invented a new pastime I call Crap Craft. While clipping a yam, I rotate and shift and thrust my hips to and fro in precisely timed movements -- tiny lower body spasms that make the departing dung go where I want it. Think of it as the human version of those soft serve ice cream machines where vendors swing the cone around in circles to create that cool swirled look. Same idea, but instead of making pretty soft serve vanilla cones, I’m making masterpieces of shit-based art.

The great thing about Crap Craft is that sometimes there are serendipitous fuck-ups. I was working on a still life in the office men’s room this morning – a bowl of fruit in the morning sunlight – and I mistakenly tilted my waist right when I should have gone left to finish the apple stem. I yelped out a “Fuck!” and then peered between my legs to see if the sculpture was a complete waste (no pun intended). What I saw made my heart jump.

It was Tootie.

I stood up to confirm that my eyes weren’t lying to me, and they weren’t. What I had created in the bottom of that bowl was an eerily accurate, completely recognizable Crap Craft portrait of Tootie from The Facts Of Life. It was as if Kim Fields herself was looking up at me through the mucky water, having pulled herself away from the sordid affair she was having with the Tidy-Bowl Man just long enough to surface and check me out.

I closed my fist and pounded it sideways on the wall that separated my stall from the next one. (I knew who it was because I saw his crusty-ass Birkenstocks under the industrial green metal wall.) “Shane! Shane! Come here, dude! You have to see this!”

“What the fuck do you want?” he asked.

“Dude, I just took a shit that looks exactly like Tootie!”

“Tootie from The Facts Of Life?”

“Yeah! C’mere!”

Shane dropped his magazine, pulled up his pants and stepped gingerly toward my stall. He pushed open the door with a look of fear in his eyes, as if he expected to see Ashton Kutcher in there telling him he’d been Punk’d. But when he looked into the stall, the fear and trepidation became complete disbelief.

“Holy fucking shit, Danny! That IS Tootie! How the fuck did you do that?”

“I don’t know, man. Just lucky I guess.”

Before I could even finish answering his question, Shane bolted out the front door. He returned a few seconds later with Lorena, our receptionist, in tow. She was obviously uneasy about being in the men’s room. Shane pushed over toward my stall and pointed to the toilet bowl without saying a word. Lorena’s eyes opened widely and she had to steady herself against the stall wall with an open palm.

“Oh. My. God,” she said. “It’s a miracle! Danny, you have GOT to put that shit on eBay. You’ll be rich!”

Lorena, too, bolted for the door. A moment later, her voice blared out on the building intercom: “Can I have your attention please, everyone? Danny Evans from marketing has just taken a dump in the second floor men’s room that looks exactly like Tootie from The Facts Of Life. I urge you all to go in there and see it. It’s phenomenal. Thanks. Bye.”

And soon came a parade of my coworkers, male and female, young and old. They poured into the little three foot by six foot stall, some snapping photos with their digital cameras, some patting me on the back, some running to the next stall to vomit. There was chatter and laughter and levity, but then the room fell suddenly and uncomfortably quiet.

I turned around and saw the face of our CEO. He looked at me sternly, then looked at Tootie, then back at me.

“Is this your handywork, son?” he asked.

“Afraid so, sir.”

“Nice job. Very lifelike.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Say, how much would you charge to do a portrait of me like that?”

“No charge at all, sir. It would be my honor. But perhaps you can reimburse me for my expenses?”

“What kinds of expenses?”

“A box of Fiber One cereal, a box of raisins and a venti coffee from Starbucks.”

“Consider it done, son. Go see my assistant and have her take it out of petty cash.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, son. Now please pull up your pants.”

Comments

there is a very good chance that you ought seek help.

In the poignant words of 50 Cent, I love you like a fat kid love cake. And I agree with honestyrain. See you on the inside. I'll be the one drooling into a cup.

Umm, have you ever considered changing you last name? I mean, not that I tell any of my friends about your site.

But....

I wouldn't want anyone who has read this, that might possibly meet me at some point in the ditant future, to think that we were related.

If ya know what I mean. No offense intended.

Yours truly,

Chris Evans

Thank you! I now have a new favorite entry from Dad Gone Mad.

I laughed so loud that I snorted and had to clasp my hands over my mouth so that I didn't have a parade of coworkers coming into my office.

Then I got to the last line and I teared up a little bit. Perfect, just perfect. Sniff.

It really wasn't your "handywork", was it? More like your "analwork". Why does this make me think of 70's German techno music? "Now is the time we crap!"

Oye...with three men in my house there's no hope is there?

Holy crap! The image of that is more disgusting than actually getting baby poop on your hands. How do you come up with this stuff?

a new type of creativity. brings new life to your term "asshat". who needs a toilet when you have a hat? a whole new realm of possibilities. "ass-art", perhaps?

Take a dump that looks like Jesus and you could make big bucks!

you are a freakin' freak! add that to the list of things on my email from yesterday.

I guess this is where we're headed with your nephew. Have I mentioned all the extra time he spends on the potty saying "stink, poopy, poop-head, fart, butt, stinker, fart, fart, pooh, pee, fart, poop-head, stink-butt", since the rule is potty-talk stays in the bathroom? At least now I have time to get some things done around the house.

xo...

How about some pics? Remember to take a camera in next time - or do you at least have a camera phone? You've got to post the one of your boss.
And yes, if an image of Jesus on a toasted cheese sandwich can go for $73,000 you should be in for the big bucks if you can do one yourself.

Have you ever tried Colonblow? I'll bet you could do Mt. Rushmore, if it works like they say it does.

I suggest doing art with Fleet PhosphoSoda. It's the stuff they use when you get a colonoscopy.

Just get a canvas and aim your ass...wonderful things will happen.

*Gstp* *Snarfing coffee*

"Clipping a yam???"

*chortle* *Gasp*

I am so happy I clicked on the link to this site. I haven't cried so many tears of laughter in such a long time. Not sure about you needing to seek help though. If you make such great life like portraits, seeking outside help may cause future attempts to become just mere crap.

Although the soda SJ mentioned could only enhance the beauty of your art. Very good idea, indeed!

Thanks again for the laughs!

oh, and by the way

have you ever considered changing you last name? I mean, not that I tell any of my friends about your site.

But....

I wouldn't want anyone who has read this, that might possibly meet me at some point in the ditant future, to think that we were related.

If ya know what I mean. No offense intended.

Yours truly,

wondersis

AWESOME story, man. I am super jealous of your crap craft abilities. Did you preserve the specimen and mail it to Tootie herself? She'd be proud.

Waiting to connect with New Zealand from the U.K. I found my way to your blog, and nearly sh-t myself laughing. I got the ending though long before you got it.

Excuse me while I quickly (ladylke)'empty my bowels'.

What - no picture?

I am finding it hard to type because my eyes are flooded with tears from laughing my ass off. You tell a great story if you don't mind I would like to link this post so my friends can have a laugh as well.Funny funny stuff...Thanks for the laugh.