No, Washington’s horse is not smoking. It was cold at Valley Forge…
An Inspiring (or Perhaps Not) Post
As I was contemplating the Meaning of the Universe (yeh, I was “on the throne”), it occurred to me that I have read very, very few scenes in the (literally) tens of thousands of books–about 2/3 fiction–I’ve read that deal explicitly with the elimination of feces. Protagonists can go through days, weeks, months, years without once taking a dump.
This is weird. I mean, take a man who loves his wife and enjoys the marriage bed with her greatly. Lock him away from his wife for a week. Plug him up so he can NOT void his bowels for the same week. Now, when released, which is going to be the greater biological imperative? Sex or dumping?
See? It’s easy to trump Freud, the weenie. *heh*
Now, back to fictional representations of the act. There are LOTS (loads, tons, an abundant redundant superfluous excess *heh*) of sex scenes in fictional representation, but a paucity of number 2s. Strange, that. The only fictional representation of dumping that springs readily to mind is from the Michael Douglas (Michael and Douglas Crichton writing as Michael Douglas) book, Dealing or The Berkeley-to-Boston Forty-Brick Lost-Bag Blues. Now, admittedly, this ain’t “grate litterchure” but it’s well written and a cracking good, very amusing story–especially for some of us who lived through the 70s mostly conscious (in contrast to many of our acquaintances).
Gotta hand it to “Michael Douglas”. Sure knew how to place things in perspective.
So, if there are any aspiring authors of fiction out there who happen to read this post, please consider including some number 2s in your work. Verisimilitude, dontcha know.