Classical Shiterature

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I have always felt that pooping and poop have been neglected in literature. While there are exceptions, most masterpieces never mention our lower digestive functions or products. Nor do most news accounts or descriptions, in spite of the omnipresence of toilets and poop in our everyday life. I think some immortal works of literary art, as well as journalistic accounts, could be livened up and made more realistic by introducing images of poop and pooping. Here are two examples of my copying a writer’s style:

From Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility:

Marianne and Willoughby halted their horses and dismounted in order to enjoy the view from the high hill. Willoughby suggested that they sit on the grass, "being careful," as he said, "to inspect the ground before alighting." Marianne smiled, looked carefully at the small tussock to be sure no horse-apples were in the near vicinity, and sat, looking contentedly at the hills and forests arising in the distance. Her glance strayed to the horse from whose back she had just climbed down. The horse's tail, formerly at rest, had risen to point nearly straight behind; its anus slowly expanded outward, gradually opening to admit to daylight a series of hard, dark-brown turds that thudded on the soft grass. "Nice movement," said Willoughby approvingly.

From Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre:

On the second day of my melancholy journey from Thornfield, I was desperately hungry, yet far from even the smallest village. The grassy hills stretched away to a dark forest some miles distant. In spite of my meager rations the day before, I felt the need to relieve myself, but could see no available shelter. The land was so lonely, however, that merely being behind a small rise of ground gave sufficient privacy, so I squatted down and did what I could. The resulting feces were dry, hard, and small; but they gave relief from that need. I continued toward the forest, hoping to encounter at least a road to the nearest town.

I love and revere these and other giant works of literature and would not in actuality change or add a word to them. Obviously, my two examples above are not direct quotes or paraphrases from either novel, so don't bother to try to find them. Please come up with your own examples from literature, or poetry, or news stories, or whatever genre appeals, and see if you cannot inject a note of earthy realism into them. Have fun!

10 Comments on "Classical Shiterature"

MSG's picture
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I just thought of another: Erle Stanley Gardner's excellent Perry Mason novels, for example this exchange from The Case of the Telltale Trace:

Mason leaned toward Valerie Hathaway and whispered, "Don't worry. I know this witness quite well."

He strode toward the witness box. "Sgt. Holcomb, you stated that there was, quote, 'an unmistakable sign,' end quote, of the defendant's presence in Apartment 227. What, exactly, was this sign?"

The sergeant hesitated, then said quite softly, "There was a large brown skidmark in the toilet, and a small floating lump of excrement."

A chorus of titters and snickers erupted from the courtroom. Judge Simms banged the gavel, saying "Order!"

Mason said, "I can understand your wishing to spare this court such an ugly detail; your sensitivity does you credit, Sergeant. Nonetheless, this evidence has no direct connection to the defendant, has it?"


"Is there photographic proof that this 'deposit' actually took place, Sergeant?"

"No, sir, there is not. A member of the scene-of-crime unit flushed the toilet, and the mark and the turd went down."

"That would seem to indicate that the mark was fresh, Sergeant; and yet, by the time of your supervised search, Miss Hathaway had already been in jail for six days. Is that not correct?"

Fidgeting, Sgt. Holcomb, his face getting red, finally said, "Yes, she had."

"I put it to you, Sergeant, that that evidence was actually left by a member of your evidence crew; that a person with Miss Hathaway's obsession for neatness would never have left such traces unflushed; that even had she left the toilet in such a state almost a week prior, the stain would have dried in place and would not have flushed away immediately; that excrement in the toilet for such a period would have left an almost indelible stain; and that in any case the donor of a bowel movement could have been anyone in the world!"

The sergeant said nothing; Mason turned to the judge and said contemptuously, "No further questions, Your Honor."

[There is, of course, no Perry Mason novel entitled The Case of the Telltale Trace.]

MSG's picture
Comment Quality Moderatori 2000+ pointsj 1000+ pointsk 500+ pointsl 100+ pointsm 1+ points - Newb

A new look at Joyce Kilmer's 'Trees':

I think that I shall never see
A turd as lovely as a tree.

The turd may exit swift or slow,
May splash into the bowl below;

May, on the other hand, be drowned
In water deep, without a sound.

The turd may lumpy be, or smooth.
Its absence afterward will sooth

The rectum of its former owner,
Who says, "Aha, I am the donor

Of this great turd, which looks to me
Just like the trunk of a great tree!

I'm glad it's gone, but I must shout:
It felt great, slowly coming out!"

A tree, a shelter for each bird,
Is far more lovely than a turd.

ChiefThunderbutt's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatorf 5000+ points

Ludwig von Beethoven wrote a very passionate letter to a woman with whom he was infatuated. The highly entertaining movie "Immortal Beloved" uses excerpts from that letter to build a suspenseful and tragic story. The identity of the immortal beloved was not revealed in the movie but most modern scholars agree that the beautiful Antonie (Antonia) Brentano was probably the woman in question. She was the wife of one of his friends, a merchant named Franz Brentano. You can imagine the tension that filled that affair!

I have discovered another letter written to the lovely Antonia that clearly shows that they had a relationship that allowed them to share even the most intimate of details;

My immortal beloved,

I joyfully set quill to paper to inform you that the abominable block that has stymied my creativity for the past few weeks is finally at and end. There was no divine intervention answering my prayers but rather the simple work of a pottage of fava beans and cabbage that I fear my housekeeper prepared too far in advance of my consumption thereof.

I dined on the afore mentioned food, along with a crust of brown bread, and then, as is my want, retired to my piano with paper and quill in hand, only lacking inspiration. As I sat there, desperate for inspiration, the quill slipped from my fingers and tumbled to the floor. I leaned sideways so that I might recover the tools of my trade in case I was inspired by the muses. Much to my delight I heard the sweet voice of Aoide come whistling from the vent between my buttocks.

There were three quick Gs in her sweet song followed by a rather long toot in E-flat. Eureka, I shouted, as I dipped my quill into the inkwell atop my piano and began scratching away at the paper, creating what I predict will become my greatest work, my Symphony No. 5 in C minor. And to think I owe it all to a meal of slightly spoiled beans and cabbage.

Your Honey Bunch,


Dirty old men need love too!!

If I had two faces do you think I'd be wearing this one?

MSG's picture
Comment Quality Moderatori 2000+ pointsj 1000+ pointsk 500+ pointsl 100+ pointsm 1+ points - Newb

Excellent, Chief! Beethoven did actually have major digestive issues, and recent medical opinion holds that he suffered from intensely painful cancer of the stomach and intestines, which eventually killed him. He also enjoyed poopy conversation ("May you have large and comfortable stools!").

ChiefThunderbutt's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatorf 5000+ points

Ludwig van Beethoven in many ways was an egocentric slob. There are many, both horrifying and edifying, anecdotes about him but the one thing that is undeniable is his immense contribution to music.

In a note left for a presumptuous prince in a palace that Beethoven had left in the dead of night after the prince had jokingly placed Ludwig under house arrest until he played, "Prince, what you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I am of myself. There are and there will be thousands of princes. There is only one Beethoven."

And I feel that there shall never be another.

Dirty old men need love too!!

If I had two faces do you think I'd be wearing this one?

the thin brown line's picture
j 1000+ points

Lewis Carrol's Jabberwocky from Alice in Wonderland-Through the Looking Glass.

'Twas brillig, and the slimy shards
Did gyre and gimble in the bowl;
All mimsy were the bungaholes
And the cheeks wrath outgrabe.

"Beware the Sphincterwock, my son!
The bowels that swell, the shit that sticks!
Beware the Gutputt bird, and shun
The frumious Thundersnatch!"

He took a stinky poop in hand:
Long time the maxim foe he sought-
So rested he by the Bumbum tree,
And shat some more in thought.

And as in uffish crap he stood,
The Sphincterwock, with eyes of flame,
Came reeking through the tugley wood,
And gurgled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The massive turd went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, then scratched it's head
He went hobbling back.

"And hast thou slain the Sphincterwock?
Shit in my arms, my squeemish boy!
O olfactory day! Kaplump! Klaplay!
He boofered in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slimy shards,
Did gyre and gimple in the bowl;
All mimsy were the bungaholes,
And the cheeks wraths outgrabe.

Somethin' mysterious made an exit from the gift shop.

ChiefThunderbutt's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatorf 5000+ points

From Ernest Hemingway's "The Old Man Pollutes the Sea"

It had been almost three months since the old man had caught a fish. The boy didn't come with him anymore since he had such bad luck. When you don't catch fish you don't have money so the old man had been living on plain boiled beans with an occasional crust of bread.

The patched sails of his small boat hung defeatedly in the almost non-existent breeze, as he ate his lunch, giving only an occasional half hearted flap. His monotonous lunch was the same as his breakfast and he had a vague feeling it was not going to agree with him.

It was early afternoon when it hit him. The beans had rebelled and demanded instant release from his tortured guts. The old man sighed deeply and hung his withered ass over the side of the boat and began releasing brown chunks of chum into the clear waters of the gulf. An interested school of torpedo minnows swam closer to see if there was anything worth salvaging but soon turned and swam disgustedly away.

"Perhaps I will have better luck tomorrow", said the old man, as he wiped his ass on a piece of cloth he had ripped hastily from one of the many patches sewn to his sails. "Perhaps I will have better luck tomorrow."

Dirty old men need love too!!

If I had two faces do you think I'd be wearing this one?

Johnny Crap's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

I've started working with Gen. Patton's speeches. Those were inspirational and charged tomes and made men see red, but I hope my work can enable men to see brown.
Thank you for your own inspirational endeavor!

We all live in a brown submarine, a brown submarine.

We all live in a brown submarine, a brown submarine.

JustPassingAlong's picture

Ya'll are hilarious!

the thin brown line's picture
j 1000+ points

Star Spangled Pooper

Oh, say can can you shit
By the dawns early early light
Oh, so proudly we report
By the stool's last stand gleaming

Who's large stool clogged the pipes
For the tenth time this year
Was it much to ask why
When the floaters were bleeding

And the rectum's red glare
Burst a turd into mid-air
When it flew through the night
Made the public aware

Oh, say does that star spangled pooper still wave
When the turd's been flushed away
To report the next day

Somethin' mysterious made an exit from the gift shop.

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