Crapblogging Kings? Hell, These Guys Are Amateurs.
Recently, several bloggers of some renown
have made an effort to claim the crown of the King of the Crapbloggers. Let me just say the race is far from won. I have not yet begun to fight. Hell, I've yet to even crawl into the ring, truth be told.
Up to now, I've avoided serious competitive Crapblogging because IMHO
tales like those are far better suited for telling around a campfire, preferably while well-lubricated by 5 or 6 ounces of quality bourbon. Also, most of my best ones are a product of my summer camp years, and most of those stories won't be told in this forum.
I'll spare one of my summer camp tales, though. Written as a bastardization of "Casey At The Bat", it tells the tale of the mysterious "Phantom Shitter", who left his calling card all over the state.
Shitter In The Camp
by El Capitan
The summer air was crisp and clean for the campers that fine day,
The camp latrines were freshly 'limed, no foul stench did waft away.
Not enchiladas nor Turkey Surprise could taint the deep latrines,
The maintenance crew, that happy few, had toiled behind the scenes.
E'en giant Galoopa, The BumbleButt, failed to rend the air,
With his turds the size of cabbages that brought us such despair.
The Camp Directors smiled with relief and heaved a hefty sigh,
A camp free of plumbing ills was a camp that's clean and dry!
How could they have known the Phantom Shitter's Poo Debut was nigh?
A new commissioner joined the staff, his late arrival a surprise,
His bona fides were highly lauded, we'd landed quite a prize!
In daylight's eye the upright fellow was both capable and stable,
In the dark, alas, a change occured, the kind as found in fable!
And Jekyll-like the man lurked out, intent on laying cable!
By scant moonlight the Phantom Shitter went out upon his rounds,
Dawn's early light revealed the sight of steaming fecal mounds!
"Upon my soul!" yelled Director "Guy", his voice an angry roar.
"Some nasty punk has defecated outside my cabin door!"
In the mess hall that very day, the excited rumors flew!
"Had you heard that someone went and left a pile o' poo?"
and El Capitan were noted pranksters of a sort
But neither had ever considered leaving turds behind for sport!
"What genius! What panache!" they thought. The Shitter was admired!
He must join our band of River Pirates, and we'll be much inspired.
We could use a hand in laying pranks, ere we end up getting fired!
A buttloaf here, a turdlet there, the Shitter's tally was increasing,
With each successful Colon-missile strike, there showed no signs of ceasing.
On one or two occasions there appeared a pretender to the Crown,
But they lacked the skill to Shit & Run, and always got shut down.
One feat set our hero apart from the rest of the ragged band,
The Phantom Shitter could, fast as lightning, take a dump upon command.
His technique was flawless, polished by years of hidden dumping
The flawless disrobing squat, the Mighty Push and then the pants-yank jumping!
Some say t'was Tantric discipline that gave this rectal control,
Those of us that were boon companions knew the scar upon his soul,
T'was a lifetime ailment of the gut that left turds constantly on tap,
Indeed, he wished for a miracle to dry up the stream of crap.
The Phantom Shitter soldiered on the rest of that hot summer,
Leaving gobs of gooey poo near the smarter and the dumber.
Dumbest yet was the big Galoopa, the yokel of massive size,
He swore he'd catch the Phantom Shitter, due to his eagle eyes.
His eagle eyes were more like orbs of cheap imported junk.
The Phantom Shitter filled a can, then left it 'neath his bunk.
A gallon can, half-filled with poo, lay under Galoopa's bed.
Such was his hygiene, the nasty boor, that naught was ever said.
Two weeks went by, the poo moldered and dried, the flies they came & went,
Never once did Galoopa notice the can of shit inside his tent.
So shaken was the Phantom Shitter by that crude display of stank,
He felt he had to quit the game, lest he lose his lofty rank.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the latrines are dark & deep,
The toilet paper's in abundance, and Lysol is very cheap.
And, somewhere men are crapping, safe behind a bathroom door,
but there is no joy in Texas -- The Phantom Shitter is no more!