The toilet seat scale is a uniquely male device. It measures to a tenth of a pound exactly how much of your latest mighty feast is evacuating your bowels in real time. Next time you say, “I feel 5.8 pounds lighter,” my friend, you won’t be lying.
Dropping the deuce is rightly-revered part of the male experience. It proves that a man is healthy and functioning. Sometimes it proves he’s been eating an appropriate man-diet of red meat, gravy, and moonshine. Sometimes it’s painful, sometimes it’s exalted, and sometimes it’s messy. Inasmuch, it is a metaphor for a man’s life.
When I was a younger man, I joined a varsity sports team midseason. The young men on the team were wary – they’d not formed the fraternal bonds of sport with me. Their bonds were forged in sweat and blood. And, in an instant, I created those bonds by posing a question which strikes at the very heart of a man’s existence: "Sir, would you rather take a really good dump, or have really terrible sex?"