Shannon’s Kitchen’s Shit List is based on years of extensive research from nursing experience, personal reflection and anecdotal evidence.
The Dream AKA The Wet Sausage: This is the one you’re aiming for, friends. This is where it’s at. This team player slides out looking and behaving like a wet sausage. It’s as though your bowels were internally greased yet you recall no such recent occurrence. It is the perfect shit: excellent wipeablility, flushability, minimal odour, and a satisfying yet anal-conserving size – it’s the shit that dreams are made of.
The Pin-Dick: This one may as well have never been inside you at all. It is so fucking disappointing that you have to peek around to verify it is even out.
The 90’s Lippie: Remember 1990’s brown lipstick? Well, this shit is like that. A brown bit peeping out of its receptacle. You want to release it with every fibre of your being, but for some reason are unable to, such as no suitable place nearby or you are in the company of a highly sexual suitor whom you wish to fool into thinking you are also highly sexual and therefore don’t want to break this illusion by defecating.
The Humiliator: This one will only occur at the homes of others or at work. It is dependent on an individual waiting to follow you in. It does not seem to occur in the presence of a functioning fan or adequate ventilation. It is a stink that permeates and humiliates and fills you with horror and an inability to make eye contact with the waiting individual ever again.
The Regret: This one is the foe of all anuses. It causes you significant regret for previous meal choices that have left you with significant ring-sting. You dream of being back in Japan where the magic toilets shoot refreshing water at your arsehole. You consider climbing out the window to search for a garden hose.
The Tree Killer: This one has no fucking respect for the planet or your perineum. This prick of a shit must have come out sideways because there is so much residue that incessant wiping seems to have zero impact. You are forced to make a mental calculation on the likelihood of skid-marks versus the likelihood of devastating forest depletion. Ultimately, this decision will be made based on who does your laundry and how attractive you find them.
The Adhesive: This one is like backing out kindergarten paste. It adheres to everything. Your inners, your outers, the bowl. In fact, it hangs on to the side of the bowl with impressive force, defying gravity like Sandra Bullock. It refuses to let go despite repeated flushing. You consider patenting it’s formulation as it could win a tug of war with Liquid Nails. Please refer to above Tree Killer for wipeability issues.
The Cheeky Shit: This guy has a sense of humour on him, I’ll give him that. He arrives with a minimum of fuss, business is taken care of, undergarments ascend, and then, uh – hang on a bloody minute, Phase Two. Cheeky fucker.
The Milo: This shit shoots out with little or no concern for your dignity, and leaves small deposits on the side of the bowl that resemble the dried on Milo that encrusts an empty cup.
The Food Baby: This is a big’n. It could have also been named The Behemoth and could be easily mistaken for a Clydesdale foal. It’s like a baby coming out your rectum, therefore, it is The Food Baby. This fella will make you fucking work for it. If an anesthetist came in halfway through and offered you an epidural, you’d grab that fucker with both hands and beg them to do it instantly. When it’s over, you’re overjoyed although you are tempted to check your anus with a hand-mirror for signs of tearing.
The Terrible Mistake: This one is in your pants.
Well, may there be more good shits than bad shits, and may the world have mercy on us all,