If you aren’t familiar with the classic literature entitled, “Everyone Poops“, then you, good friend, are clearly not cultured.
I first discovered this book in my very early twenties, when my mother found a copy of it at a thrift store and figured it would be something I’d get a kick out of. She was right. This was before stupid cartoons like Family Guy made a big deal about the book. It wasn’t quite a pop culture phenomenon yet. Still, it was easily the greatest book I had ever seen.
It was all about poop!
Now, I understand that this book is intended to help with potty training. I don’t really see the use. There are better potty training books out there.
Grayson, my little boy, is one the verge of a serious potty training regimen. It’s coming, and when it does, it’ll probably feel like a Rocky training montage. I hope that by the end of it, when he’s a potty master he’ll look at the other kids his age at daycare and ask, “Do you even poop, bro?”
Everyone Poops isn’t really a training manual, or even much of a guide. It doesn’t go into many details about how you know it’s time to poop. Nothing about having accidents either, and the shame you should feel when you diarrhea yourself on the playground in front of the cutest girl in school. So much for your public school crush. Or college, if the scenario applies to you.
It is, at it’s core, just a bunch of pages of drawings of people and animals taking turns taking a shit. I love it. It’s fucking brilliant in it’s simplicity. But it’s not much of a guide.
A couple weeks ago, my son filled his diaper up and before I had a chance to notice he had pooped (usually the smell gives it away, for those of you without kids… why are you reading this blog again?…) he decided to show me. Yeah, he full-on reached into the back of his pants, and scooped out some messy shit to display in the palm of his hand.
That’s my boy, I thought to myself.
I paused for a moment before grabbing a cloth because I was curious if he’d throw the poo at me like a monkey does. Then common sense kicked in because A) He’s not a monkey, and B) if I waited too long I might be covered in toddler shit. Time was of the essence, and that essence had an awful aroma.
I was also worried he might try to eat it. He ate kitten poop once. True story. If you ask him, he might deny it but who would admit to that? And he’s only two, and probably doesn’t remember doing it. Still, if I ate cat shit, I’d probably remember that forever. He’s likely just blocked it from his memory. Wow, for only two years old my son has some serious zen-like super powers.
Anyway, back to the book.
Everyone Poops is one of the greatest books ever written, but what someone really needs to write are instructions on when to poop, how much toilet paper is appropriate to use (ladies, I’m looking at you here), and how to properly install a new roll of toilet paper so that it hangs over the front. Oh, and somewhere in there should be a basic one-liner about not eating poop.
“If one feels the inclination to taste or otherwise orally ingest some poop, then they should reconsider this action as it would be detrimental to their health, as well as their current state of breath; and, as such, they would be ridiculed by their peers.”
That should do it. Read it with a British accent. If you live in Britain, read it normally.
And that’s that. Everyone poops. And that’s what I’m going to do right now. You’re welcome. I know you wanted to know that.