More Shit

A previous piece on shit has produced some feedback, making this writer rather elated, as it is an indication that this space is being read after all. Other topics discussed in his space did not warrant any response from readers, so I presumed that nobody reads my pieces, or, even if somebody does, my spirited thoughts did not deserve feedback at all.
It’s nice to know that somebody reads what I write, and I thank those who do so, even if they think I am a shithead.
The reactions tothe piece were generally funny. One unknown texter, to whom I apologize for not knowing who he or she is (even as I asked who it was, the texter did not identify him/herself), said that what I wrote was “full of shit but it was nice.” The texter quite obviously thinks shit is nice.
I posted the piece on the bibaknets email list, and some members of the list recounted other stories of shit. I suppose shit at anytime makes for interesting conversation.
For this reason, I would like to oblige shitheads like myself by recounting another shitty story.
There was a foreign visitor to our shores back in the eighties, and I accompanied her to one of the villages in Sadanga so that she could observe conditions there. As in many other villages at the time, there were no outhouses or toilets, and one had to defecate in pigpens.
When the visitor had to move her bowels, we informed her of the age-old waste disposal system of feeding the pigs with our aromatic faeces. The foreigner quite naturally did not like the idea of squatting at the edge of the pigpen, with a couple of grunting pigs beneath her buttocks. I suppose she was also rather embarrassed that she had to do it in the open.
After we told her of how she has to do it, she lost the urge to defecate.
Unfortunately, we had to stay overnight in the village, and even though she ate very sparingly that night, her stomach and intestines resumed the pressure on her anus, wanting to rid her body of fecal waste, battling with her sensibilities. It was around nine o’clock at night that her insides won the war, and she finally went out to the pigpen.
Our hosts and I supposed that she waited until dark to defecate, for then at least she would be able to deny the pigs and voyeurs the spectacle of her bared buttocks and her other hidden anatomy.
Inconsiderately and insensitively, we had a few laughs as we listened to the pigs grunting outside the house, trying to stifle our laughter lest our visitor be offended. When at last she returned, visibly very relieved to have gotten rid of body toxin, we became embarrassedly very quiet.
Our visitor proceeded to her assigned sleeping space immediately, with just a murmured good night. She was probably as embarrassed as we were.
As things turned out, I had to move my bowels the morning after. As I positioned my rectal end at the edge of the pigpen, I noticed I was doing more grunting than the pigs. The pigs in the pen were unusually quiet, and quite unnaturally kept their distance, instead of waiting directly underneath my anus waiting for the manna to fall.
I eventually finished, still puzzled as to the odd porcine behavior.
When I was done, I remained near the pigpen, trying to solve the mystery of the quiet pigs. I noticed that the pungent delicacy that came out of my rectum was just lying there on the floor of the pen. The mystery got even more mysterious. The pigs’ behavior was not only odd; it was a total betrayal of the nature of their species!
Then I noticed that beside my pile of shit was a much bigger pile of shit, obviously untouched by the pigs. It must have been the deposit of our foreign friend the night earlier. Now, even as the pigs wanted to get to the food I deposited, they could not find a way around the mountain of the foreigner’s faeces.
Our hosts in the village noticed the very same phenomena when they deposited their own shit. It became a conversation piece. The whole village was talking about the mystery, trying their darnedest best not to do it in our visitor’s presence, and trying to hide their mirth.
Everybody was relieved when we finally left the village at midmorning. Now the villagers could puzzle over the mystery in all hilarity, and their foreign guest could finally set aside the shitty ordeal she has been through.
She did not mention anything about it in the long quiet ride we had back to toilet heaven.
I did not have the heart to tell her of the prevailing theory the villagers had as to why the pigs acted oddly: that even as the guest hated her ordeal, the pigs hated her shit more. 

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