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R.H. Phecal, the 2002 winner of the Acme Gold Medallion for most copious and substantial producer of the short-short, squatted over the bowl.

“Rodney? Rodney! Are you almost done in there?”

He would not let Sylvie break his concentration. He had never tried this position before, and it was certainly a risk. It could cause him to pinch, thus cutting off a nice, clean three day build up. Sweat broke over his peaked brow, he flipped to the Planetarium section of Vanity Fair.

Let’s see, let’s see…Scorpio…,

“A little extra spin on Uranus means you can expect unusual large excretions this month.”

He dropped the magazine in disgust. These things are so fucking vague. Finally, his ass opened up and he felt the smooth pole slide through. He tried to relax, but he was certain he had cut it off too soon. He peaked between his knees.


It was a lovely little sapling. He looked just a little longer, then flushed. It folded over and curled down the hole. He pulled up his pants, brushed his hands together and left, without bothering to wipe. In the hallway he turned sideways and squeezed past Sylvie with a wry grin.

“Jesus Christ, Rodney, we have an industrial strength flush! There’s no excuse for these skid marks!”

He sat down at the computer and started to type. He was still on top.

Date Written: December 07, 2003
Author: Jimson S. Sorghum
Average Vote: 2.6667

12/11/2003 anonymous (1):
12/11/2003 Ewan Snow: That R. H. Phecal sounds like a great guy! I gotta say, for all the poop stories I've read over the years, this one contains the most gritty realism, the most in-depth analysis of real life pooping.
12/12/2003 Phony Millions (4): I really always like Jimson's delicate approach to fecality.
05/24/2004 TheBuyer (3): that dump felt a little too average