So I was in grad school, dating my (now husband) new boyfriend who was visiting me for the weekend. I was totally trying to maintain the Melania Illusion that we could spend a weekend together in my apartment and I didn’t poop. Well, that came to a screeching halt one night when I stealth pooped in the bathroom,…

You would have loved the public restrooms at the Vatican, circa 1986. Squat toilet, helpful outlines on the floor to show you where to put your feet, no privacy and, at least in the one I managed to find, NOT free. You had to pay a nun to enter, and who’s going to shortchange a nun* ??All I can remember is thinking,…

I always worry more about mosquitoes or (if I’m using a thunderbox) spiders.

Oh Christ, this reminds me of my first period story. I’m 13 and at my bff’s lake house for the weekend. She’s a long time family friend and I’m two years older than her and she hasn’t experienced any joys of puberty yet. We’re sleeping in the same room in a big bed and I’m a naturally early riser so I wake up way…

Oh my god this. I was so excited to be able to naturally pop a squat on my first big camping trip. Then the time came and I dug my hole and I had stage fright because I knew the bears were waiting to get me with my pants down.

I feel you! I literally divorced my first husband because he constantly shit in the bathroom while I was in the shower. It was a rough time in my life and the shower was the highlight of my day. I couldn’t deal.

I can really only comfortably poo at my own house, bathroom door locked, no talking, dogs outside guarding the door.

Story 1: So, let me offer the following backstory: I’m lactose intolerant. That’s it, that’s the whole backstory.

Handling one’s own poo is a fascinating experience, isn’t it? The guy I was seeing was taking a shower in my bathroom and I didn’t want to shit in there with him — I wasn’t really embarrassed, per se (he was a squatter, so I know he’d seen/heard far worse and wouldn’t judge) I just knew this shit was going to be a…

so I wrapped my hand in a bunch of paper towels and grabbed the poop and then THREW THE POOP OUT THE BATHROOM WINDOW and it landed on the top of the garage and as far as I know is still there

Oh omg this just reminded me so vividly of my own similar experience: I was in college, watching a movie with this guy I was sort of seeing. Not a lot of comfort between us, yet, is what I mean. Still in the hiding our farts phase. But I really liked him. He lived in an old house with a bunch of housemates but they…

Oh my god one time in freshman year I was in Harvard Square at 1 in the morning having just tried to stop the dam against drunkenness at Felipe’s and I really had to pee to I ran down into a loading dock and only discovered after I was done that I had accidentally soiled a pigeon.

It feels so weird to pop a squat outside. Even when I’m backpacking, I’m like, am I really doing this? I’m also kind of scared the whole time that a bear will attack me while my pants are down around my ankles and that my last earthly experience will have been shitting in the woods.

Oh man... I pooped myself in a mall I’d never gone to in Miami. My kid decided she wanted to check out Claire’s and while we were in there I felt *something* coming, but I sensed that I couldn’t hold it in. Ever tried to find a restroom in a giant mall you’ve never been to while shitting yourself? It’s a special kind…

I once pooed in a corn field while visiting my friends central PA lake house, which had a toilet but it was not in the house, it was in a little wooden bathroom house down the road. I was like 11 and we’d been running around a bunch and it came on suddenly—I just knew I wouldn’t make it to the bathrooms. So I popped a…

Even if they did have classified information in them, it would be on Huma, not on Hillary.

Wait, so I’m correct in understanding that the emails are not from Clinton? Which means they were sent *to* Clinton? Short of saying in an email to her, “Here’s that classified document you wanted so that you could sell it to Russia in exchange for that set of personalized Matryoshka dolls,” what relevance could this…

HASN’T HUMA ENDURED ENOUGH

Oh Megyn Kelly, how I simultaneously despise and cheer for you