Corn Poop
Dark and dense, slowly creeping over a layer of rectal mucus, a massive glassier-like feces struggles to navigate its way through my alimentary canal.

Corn bits scrape the lower walls of the intestines, like the fingertips of a man about to fall off a 50-story building, refusing to give up.

A final involuntary contraction and the payload is extruded into an extended coil of unprecedented girth, followed immediately by the smell of death itself.

Thank god the cleaning lady comes today.

The 32nd Flavor
See what happens at work when the spanish-speaking warehouse guys get the "restroom" and "refrigerator" sign mixed up. Just needs some Hershey's syrup.

Yummy

The Job Interview
Early for a job interview and feeling somewhat nervous, I disappeared into the can to get rid of a severe case of trapped wind. The next thing I know, I find myself unwinding an uncomfortably wide and uncontrollable cable.

As I strained, I heard the guy that would be interviewing me come into the restroom. I finished up, hit the flush and watched in horror as my choc sock refused to go down. Knowing that the new boss was waiting for the stall, I wrapped some toilet paper around my fingers and pushed it down. Big mistake. The bowl water soaked through the paper instantly and I got feces all over my hand. I flushed again and then bolted for the sink – only to be greeted mid-flight by the new boss who shook my hand like we were old friends.

I washed up and sprinted out of the building as fast as I could.

(Carter, via e-mail)

2005 Tour De France Update
Floyd Landis of Team Phonak leaves a gift for the poor chamber maid at the Hotel Montargis.

Teammate Oscar Pereiro wanted to “Upper Deck” it, but Floyd had to point out to the Spaniard that there was no tank and the smell would just be mistaken for unshaven armpits or chunk of Camembert cheese.