The Poop Diaries: Volume 1

I was given some extremely insightful wisdom about 11 years ago by a 4 1/2 year old boy known as Simon. To those who know me personally, you understand why this young man could gain and ultimately hold my attention enough to impart this pearl upon me.  To those who don't, lets just say he is an integral part of my life.
In a world of seemingly un-ending falsehoods, the words that Simon said to me that day have yet to be disproven.  They have passed close scrutiny and I now believe that they should be adopted by society as one of the few remaining constants left in this ever changing world.

Simon: " you know kev... poop is always funny"

Me: (trying not to laugh)" Yeah sim... but what if you fell face first into a giant steamy pile? You wouldn't think it was so funny then."

Simon: " No...but you would"

Me: "good point"

There it was.  His irrefutable logic left me practically speechless on that fateful day.  I felt as though I had climbed a mountain to see the wise old man, meditated for 30 days, and had one of life's deeper messages given to me on a scroll by singing angels. The reflection that I have given to these words for the past decade, from things I witness daily to applying them in stories of my youth, has left me with a "faith", if you will, in something more true than any religion has ever provided. I defy you, the reader, to think of a time in your life when something tragic happened to you involving some form of excrement.  Something grotesque.  Now tell that thing to a close friend or family member and you will understand what I mean.  POOP IS ALWAYS FUNNY!

On that Note, I would like to refer you all to an incident that tested the boundaries of this theory.

It was a warm and vibrant summer-sunrise and I was the first one to stir.  Unzipping the tent, I drank in the symphony of wildlife that that abounds on such early-mornings at our usual camping spot next to a river in the mountains of Vermont.  Armed with only a small folding spade and some toilet-paper, I frantically tip-toed  through camp and out on my downstream trek to find a distant place to deposit the reminder of last nights dinty-moore and excessive-beer gastrointestinal fiasco.  Nothing funny unless you count me almost falling in the hole while trying to pull up my pants. It was funny to me while trekking back to camp only because I had come away unscathed.  Had I not, then I might not have thought poop could have been funny at all that day.
Upon my return to camp I found that there was another early-riser.  For confidentiality purposes lets call him Bryan Woodbury.   Bryan was squatting next to the fire-pit, poking at coals from last nights blaze,  encouraging them back to life to heat the morning coffee.  This group of friends had camped together multiple times before, in this exact spot, over the years. In Bryan I have seen the type of person who is content with being silent in the mornings at our campsite, more to bask in the beauty of mother nature at that magical hour, than out of respect to those still sleeping in the 5 tents around us. I quietly stowed my shit-tickets back in my tent, filled the percolator with beans and water, placed it on the grate over the budding fire and sat down on a log across from him without a word having been spoken between us, merely a head nod of acknowledgement. For the next 20 minutes, as we sat both hypnotized by the fire, waiting for our fresh, hot, delicious beverage. Not a thing could be heard but the melodious sounds of happily chirping birds, the water of the stream flowing over the rocks, and the occasional snoring or grunts from aforementioned surrounding tents.
One of those grunts turned into a shuffle and then the unzipping of a tent as (lets call him Jason Pontbriant aka: Jay) dragged himself out of his canvas domicile in nothing but his boxers.  He stood up, scratched his ass, and looked startled to see Bryan and I sitting there through the quarter of an eyelid he could muster raising. The indentations on his face, from riding his pillow through a hard nights sleep, were indicative of someone who had only very recently regained consciousness.  He had the look of a man who has absolutely no intention of staying awake any longer than the time it takes to perform the task that is keeping him awake. He grunted at us and meandered off into the woods to relieve himself of whatever bodily function had so rudely interrupted his REM sleep.

Thats when it happened.  This post-card-picturesque serenity that Bryan and I had been experiencing for the past 25 minutes of just sitting in the forest on a breathtaking summer morning was shattered by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling, disgusted scream.

Bryan and I made eye contact.  It wasn't the kind of worried eye contact that two parents make when they hear their child screaming in the other room, it was more like the kind of look that the two parents next to them give each other as they are mentally assuring each other "not our kid". We went back to staring at the flames dancing around the coffee pot, patiently, in our zen happy-places.

Seconds later the peace was disrupted again when what sounded like a bull came charging out of the forest into the campgrounds in front of us. There he stood with a horrified incredulous look on his face pointing to his foot which he held off the ground, his pillow marks quivering with rage.

I JUST STEPPED IN SHIT...!!!  Jay bellowed as he pointed to the elevated foot which I now noticed with a glance was dripping a tan mud-like substance from between his bare toes and saturated toilet paper stuck to his heel.  "Wow that sucks" I thought to myself not really willing to give up my pre-coffee meditation for his misfortune. I glanced at Bryan but he was still staring into the fire wearing the totally blank look that I felt on my face.

I JUST STEPPED IN SOMEONES SHIT!!!! He screamed, to all within a 1/2 mile radius. He was hopping mad.

I...JUST... STEPPED...IN... SOMEONES... SHIT !!!! He announced to the world with a rage in a pitch that would make dogs cringe.

I glanced up at him with a slight look of sympathy, so as to acknowledge the situation, with the intention of giving him a "that really sucks" or a "sorry man, no one should be shitting that close to camp", but when I actually saw what was standing before me I bit my lip and refrained from saying anything.  Jay stood there on one foot furiously pointing to his shit and toilet paper covered foot looking like he wanted to fight me and Bryan at the same time.  The pillow lines were gone and replaced by veins jutting out of his forehead and his face had turned a color red that I didn't think possible in anything but turkeys.  He was practically drooling with fury and at the same time trying to desperately to stand on one foot.  So he kept hopping around trying not to fall over while going into a tirade about whomever had shit behind his tent.

WHOEVATHEFUCK SHIT BEHIND MY TENT BETTER... GET... OUT ...HERE ...AND FUCKINPICKITUP!!!

ONE OF YOU FUCKINASSHOLES SHIT BEHIND MY TENT AND I FUGGIN STEPPED IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

The problem was, that neither Bryan nor I were giving this explosion that was going off next to us much thought.  Neither of us were the guilty party so we could still sort of feel for the guy in his nasty predicament. We were both still completely silent..hadn't moved a muscle... kind of still in our own perspective mental nirvana...or so I thought.
I glanced at Bryan and our eyes met.   I realized then that he had started to put on his poker face and there was a tiny twinkle in his eye. In that .005 seconds that we made eye contact I knew that I couldn't look at Bryan again, while Jay was hopping around next to us, without losing the composure that I hadn't thought to lose previously.
There was a pause in the tirade after Jay had tried to coerce everybody out of their tent to hold an immediate public inquisition followed by promises to wipe his foot off on the guilty party with a good solid ass-kickin'. There was not a sound to be heard from any of the 5 tents.
Apparently this momentary pause in his rant, as he waited for takers, allowed a certain paranoia to creep in.  The hours of merciless ridicule that he could foresee for the rest of the day dawned on him so he decided to try and nip it in the bud.

ITS NOT FUCKIN FUNNY!!!

I hadn't even thought to smile before because I could so closely feel the anger and horror that my good friend was going through.  I mean...what a shitty start to the morning.  Everyone says that but how many of you can actually mean it... literally? Bryan might be losing his composure but mine was still in check right up until about the sixth proclamation that this wasn't indeed "fuckin' funny".  I can only surmise, in retrospect, that the little glimmer that I had witnessed in Bryan's eye, had grown into something more as Jay repeated this same phrase over and over with a higher pitch and volume each time and it was directed back at us. No one else showed up to his rant, and while realizing that the guilty party wasn't directly in front of him, he wanted a fight nonetheless. By the 6th repeated time of the statement he sounded like alvin the chipmunk with his balls in a vise.

ITS NOT FUCKIN FUNNNNYYYY!!!! Jay squeaked.

If looks could kill I'd be dead on the ground.  And then it happened.  In his zeal to express to us the unfunnyness of the situation he only achieved the opposite.  I heard a noise come from Bryan that can only be described as though he had stuffed a live duck up his nose and was trying to stifle a sneeze at the same time. He had cracked. Thats when I realized... that this was actually extremely hilarious.  Bry and I both burst out into loud riotous laughter in Jay's face.  Jay could have chosen to beat us senseless right there, without either of us fighting back, we were laughing so hard.  A look of anger, frustration, and betrayal clouded Jays face as I fell off the log I was sitting on.  He was speechless with fury. Thats when all at once the 9 or so occupants of the tents all burst out laughing as well, which continued into a 10 min. group laughter where none of us could see each other but the sound of each others laughter only fueled the situation.  Defeated, Jay swear-ingly hopped back into the woods to wash his foot off and seethe for a few hours muttering threats while refusing to set his foot to the ground lest he feel that squishing feeling again.

I guess my point to this all is... even when someone is trying to convince you otherwise, poop is always funny.  Even when faced with danger, poop is always funny.  Even when threatened with bodily harm ...you get the point.  This theory has been unshakeable since it was laid down to me.

On a side note. 5 years after the incident, the real culprit finally fessed up to to the incident and Jay is now married to her.
Thanks for the laughs Ange, that was some funny shit.