Volume 5

Poo Log #1: A three week empirical analysis of feces reveals a correlation between spicy and liquid poo

I noticed that when I had a spicy poo, it was more likely to be liquid as well. I decided to follow up with this observation with a three week fecal study. In essence, I graded my poops on a scale of zero to ten for both spice level and consistency. A value of zero for the spice variable represented no spice whereas a value of ten represented a very spicy poo (a classic "ring of fire" situation if you will). A value of zero for the consistency variable represented diarrhea whereas a value of ten represented a hard log. I plotted my results in the chart below, and as you can see, spicy poo tends to be liquid poo. Linear regression of the data revealed a high R squared value indicating this model fit the data well and suggests that the consistency and spice variables are linearly correlated.

Of course, this study only represents my experience. It would be interesting to confirm these results in the greater population. Moreover, the issue of causation is still unanswered: does spicy poo cause liquid poo? Or does liquid poo cause spicy poo? Most likely it is the spiciness that causes the liquid poo consistency, however, this study does not provide any support for this assertion. 

Of broader interest, I would like to note that the Chinese word for diarrhea is 拉肚子 (pronounced "la dudz"), which has a direct translation to "spicy stomach". I cannot help but think that a long, long time ago some Chinese person probably did the same study I report here and came up with 拉肚子 as the word for diarrhea. It would be interesting to follow up on this theory with a historical investigation of the development of 拉肚子 as the word for diarrhea in China. 

— Peter Lipshits, Chief editor of The Poo Journal

Poo Log #2: You are what you excrete

John Doncaster | Manitoba, Canada | 2020

Last night I went out with some friends for beer and food. I ate a very spicy pizza. This morning to my horror my stool was lacklustre in density, arduous in duration, and spicy. Worth it.

Poo Log #3: The day I almost blew my whistle

Dave aka Pooptimus Prime | British Columbia | 2014

A few years ago I drove across Canada with a few friends, with stops throughout Alberta and British Columbia to climb peaks in the Rockies. Since there were avalanches and rockfalls at the time, I wore a whistle around my neck at all times - just in case.

My buddies chirped me often for wearing that thing. But never more so than on one day in Vernon, BC where we’d stopped for the night at my friend’s place. We pitched our tents In his backyard, right on Lake Okanagan.

It had been a long day of hiking and our stomachs were aching for some grub. It was my turn to cook and I ended up making spaghetti with tuna. I was young at the time, so my original plan to cook for 6 ended up being able to feed at least two dozen. We ate and ate and ate that night.

It got late and the rest of my road trip buddies returned to their tents. I told them I’d join them soon, as I needed to take a fat shit. Little did I know that my hosting friend and his girlfriend decided to wait till I’d come out of the washroom before saying goodnight and going upstairs.

That’s when it happened. In total I spent 30 minutes on that shitter. After the first 15 my friend even knocked on the door and asked if I was alright. That’s when I first realised he’d even been waiting for me at all. But truth be told, I was experiencing a crisis on that toilet.

You know when you take a ginormous shit and think, aah that was hugely satisfying? That happened to me 4-5 times in a row that half hour. Each bowel movement was bigger than the last. I was both sweaty and scared. The last glance I cast down that bowl before flushing - thrice - caught me off guard. My shit resembled a mountain we’d just climbed, protruding the surface of the water about 4 inches. I’d completely filled the toilet bowl, with no water in sight.

After flushing and washing, I felt both satisfied and terrified with myself, whilst at the same time afraid of the looks I was about to see on the other side of that door. Upon entering the living room I encountered Mack and his girlfriend leaning against the fireplace mantle piece looking down. Their faces betrayed their surprise and disgust at me after having heard what must have been terrible noises coming from THEIR washroom. They asked me if I was OK. All I said was, “Woah, I feel better.” They responded with the feeblest “goodnight” and the most uncertain smiles I’d ever seen. The contrast with their cordial and hospitable selves prior to my deuce was striking.

I didn’t know whether to hang my head in disgrace or lift my chin with pride. In all honesty, I’m not sure what I did, but I do remember my face glowing with embarrassment as I swished out the back door and into my tent. My tent mates were still awake when I got in. I told them the story exactly the way you’ve just read it. They dubbed that day “the day Dave almost blew his whistle”.

Poo Log #5: When Hell Freezes Over

Brian "Douglas" Hyde | Kearl Lake mine, Alberta, Canada | 2014

It was a real cold night, we were pushing -50°C (-58°F) with the windchill. My partner and I were on night shift, halfway through a 10 day stint. 

I'd eaten 38 miniature packets of Philadelphia cream cheese, a dozen pre-made bologna sandwiches, one  floret of broccoli, and drank nothing but coffee and chocolate milk for the last five or six days. 

We were assigned to work in the utilities corridor, doing building checks to make sure nothing was frozen. I didn't feel good at the start of the shift, but I kept on going.

There were no bathrooms in the utilities corridor, and the next bathroom was a bumpy 10 minute drive down a frozen gravel road in a strict no speeding zone. 

I left my partner Ken behind - a serious no-no. Black bears, arctic wolves and high voltage made for a mandatory two man team. He was up three flights of stairs and was slower than your standard plant maintenance worker … but I needed to go. NOW!

I carefully guided myself into my F350. I couldn't even put on the seatbelt because the pressure was too much for my stomach to handle. I was ready to blow. I turned down the radio, sweat beading off my forehead, and hit the gas. 

I pushed through the ride and managed to make it to a trailer with 15 toilet stalls. I had made it, and my legs hadn't become an image straight from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 

I walked into the trailer and was bombarded by a horrendous smell. There was ice on the floor. I went into the first toilet stall: frozen … full of shit. Second toilet stall … frozen, full of shit. Third … fourth … fifth … sixth … 

Now I’m in full panic mode. I start to take my coveralls off and in the act I drop my radio in a pool of piss. I’M CROWNING. 

I settle for toilet #9. It had maybe one inch of clearance from the frozen shit inside to the bottom of the toilet seat. 

So I let it fly. Loose, greasy camp food diarrhea hits the seat as I hover over that porcelain beast. I've now filled the void and its coming over the sides. But I finished, and (to my knowledge) with not a gram of poo on me. 

I put on my coveralls, picked up my radio, and left. In hindsight I should have left a fiver for the cleaning crew, but you always think of that stuff afterwards.