
Monday Morning. I wake up early. I walk the dog. It was rainy and cold. It was still dark when the dog started circling in his usual crap-spot hunt. I say outloud "SUCCESS!" but then quickly hush myself so that I don't draw attention, cause I hate picking up dog crap. As he unloads, I feel an abdominal pressure. This one feels big. I rush home, and go upstairs to where I must go. I disrobe, and sit down. I squeeze. *plop* *plop* *teeny weeny splash*. Not much poo came out...I squeeze harder...another little turd falls. I'm pretty disappointed. Anyway, life goes on. I hadn't defecated the previous day, so I was hoping this would be a big one, but the result was anticlimactic. The previous day I'd had a bowl of oatmeal for breaky, a spicy chicken sandwich combo from wendy's for lunch, and roast beef with potatoes, squash, peas, etc. for supper.
Later Monday, I sent this beauty into a watery exile:

I had an orange for breakfast, a huge burger for lunch (which explains the large mass of this one), and some chicken strips on a bun for supper. Also accounting for the size was the food I'd consumed the previous day, only a small fraction of which came out in the morning's escapoode. You'll note that this is the only photo that contains TP. This is actually a kleenex disposed of in the toilet prior to defecation. I photograph my work before wiping so that the beauty of the bread is preserved.
Pooper Mcgoo