In 2001, I embarked on a mission so dirty and so smelly. After drinking the night away on New Year”s 2001, I decided to make a resolution like no other. I would count every shit I took in 2001. My first shit was at 9:09 p.m. It was dark and green.

I had 741 more in 2001, yet no other shits were green. I guess every shit from then on could only be green with envy. But there were special shits. On Jan. 9, I dropped the “wall banger.” The wall banger was a fierce 11 inch shit that attached to each side of the bowl like a chin up bar.

On June 10, I had the Isiah Shit (in honor of my dead cat, Isiah, who would have turned eleven that day). After dropping a shit at the home of my cat, I sprinkled cat hair of my cat into the toilet in his memory.

During the first round of the NCAA Tournament, I decided it was necessary to shit in a cup. I left it under News Editor Dave Ender”s bed yet he never noticed.

I could talk about particular shits all day, but instead I will now explain how difficult it is to count your shits. If you are at home, sure you just take the shit, go to your computer and log into a Microsoft Excel file. But what if you are not home? Then you must make Sammy Jankis notes all over your body. During a trip to New Jersey with Editor-in-Chief-to-be, Jon Schwartz (make “em say ugh), I had to leave pen marks on my wrist to remember my count. During a trip to my hometown Gaylord, MI, I had to repeat in my head how many shits I had over and over the way Jerry Seinfeld remembered the law firm a potential girlfriend worked at.

When I was climbing through the hills of Guksak, Ireland, I fished for clams, ate the big sandwich and played Super Mario Bros. 2 until Birdo said to stop. At that point I shit on all those who felt that coffee shops eat the burrito shelling enough cash for no (one). On that subject, Crayola Crayon Man said to me, “The crayon sharpener in the 64 pack is for sharpening crayons, not storing feces!”

I killed Crayola Man and played with his waxy remains.

Finally, on Dec. 31, 2001, I excused myself from the living room of my parents home and forced out my final shit (No. 742). It was tiny and small, but it was a shit so I gave it a salute and cried over the toilet bowl.

One month later

I now have no clue how many shits I have taken in 2002, however, I do look forward to important shits of 2002. On May 16, I plan to have two identical shits in honor of “Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones.” When “The Two Towers” is released next Dec., I plan on dropping two towers of my own in my pants. On my 23rd birthday, I plan to dedicate my shit to No. 23 himself, Michael Jordan, as his 40-year-old ass will surely be playing like shit.

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