Today's effort is what I call a rope turd. This happens when it squeezes out like toothpaste from a tube. As you can see from the photograph, this does not make for compact virile shits. In fact, I am a little ashamed of this unmanly one. It could have been done by a five year old.
Place: a café downtown. I dislike this toilet. It is not very clean and because it is underground odours hang around embarrassingly. I like to rise up, snap my photo, and flush my waste into oblivium before toxic fumes begin seeping under the door out into the (very confined) room in which men urinate, wash their hands, and attempt to dry them under the noisy and largely ineffectual blower.
The paper in this toilet (when there is any) is cheap and raspy. I don't like this, either. It puts me in a bad mood. Also, today's crap was smeary. Smeary turds are one of life's small distressing trials. Sometimes, like today, the more I wipe the more mess appears, instead of the reverse. It made me reflect that if Evolution (or God, if you prefer) has so wonderously designed our bodies, how come we do not have click-shut anuses?
A bit depressed, today. I see that my blog has attracted no followers, yet. I suppose this is not surprising, as it is only 24 hours old. But although I told myself when I created it that I did not expect it to be read by anyone other than myself, of course I secretly hoped, and still hope, that friends, "followers", will manifest out of cyber-space, as they are said to, and that my turds will attract some excited buzz.
Well, it's early days yet.
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