The Poopsmiths are rare to find in today’s world of modern technology and steel tools. They stand as the last bastion of the ways of the past; making all of their apparatuses out of their own natural excrement. It may seem foolish to some, but to the poopsmith, it is a way of life.
I first encountered a poopsmith while hiking in Mingo Park. My friend and I were bored with staying on the trail and decided to veer off into the woods. After walking for about ten minutes, we both knew that we needed to take a huge shit. We luckily came upon a wooden shack, but noticed a foul smell emanating from it. The smell was putrid starting from about fifteen yards away. It continued to grow worse as we approached the shack, and it felt as if we were entering an open asshole. We knocked on the doors vigorously, hoping a kind soul would open the bathroom and relieve us of our dismay.
A gentle, rasping voice came out of a slit in the door at about our eye level. The voice said, “Who be outside, you know what I’m talking about.” We told him we were weary travelers looking for a decent place to take a shit in the woods, and asked if we could enter his humble abode. The voice replied, “Of course, we always welcome new varieties.” We had no idea what the hell that meant, but we entered as the man slowly opened the creaking door to his shack.
The man, at first sight, seemed to be in his seventies, and he had a two foot long beard that hung from his chin. He wore a tattered pair of overalls, which were stained badly with brown spots. He actually had a brown substance smeared seemingly over his entire body, some places darker than the others. His beard and hair were both infested with the brown substance, and the entire room reeked of ass droppings. We were suspicious that the brown substance he was covered in was poop, but we did not want to assume that this guy plays with shit or anything. Damn, we had no fucking idea.
So by this time we ask the man where his restroom is located, and he took us into a room that was labeled “storage.” He asked us what kind of shit we thought we would have. We looked at each other, and shrugged. I said that it would probably be a little runny and green since I had drank a purple powerade with my lunch of taco bell. My friend said that he thought his shit would be pretty solid. We asked him why he needed to know, and he told us that he was a poopsmith, and he uses different types of poop to create different things. After he told me that, I was very interested to learn everything about him.
His name is Stanley Scuzzley, and he has traveled throughout the Midwest. His father and grandfather were both poopsmiths, and they each taught him the intricate details of the philosophy of the poopsmith. “The poopsmith is never scared to get his hands dirty,” Mr. Scuzzley articulated. “That is why people started using steel in the first place, they were scared to use their natural butt release to fudge together tools, weapons, and whatever else is needed to survive in the forest. Fuck steel, and while we’re at it, fuck wood too, my shack is made entirely out of shit and bamboo. Yes, bamboo is cool with me, and that makes some poopsmith purists angry. I don’t know why. To me, shit and bamboo go together like rice and beans,” Scuzzley said.
I asked him if I could interview him to get his life story, and learn more about the way of the poopsmith, and he told me to come back to his shack later, because he had a lot of work to do. Scuzzley said, “I can’t do that right now, I don’t have the time. I got some guy named Spinner asking for two dozen dildos made out of bamboo and shit. Plus I have to make some shit hammers, and some shit nails, I’m running low. As you can imagine, that takes a lot of shit, so I’m going to have to eat a lot, and buy some more laxatives from CVS. Hopefully I can trap some more squirrels to use some of their shit, but those damn things are hard to catch. Come back in a week.”
So the story of the poopsmith will have to wait until next week. This guy is a weird motherfucker. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand going into that shit shack again, it was truly the most disturbing and abhorrent place I have ever set foot in. However, there is no way in hell that shit covered freak is coming over to my house. Oh well, I’ll figure that out later. That’s all for now fellow Delaware Americans, these are strange times we’re living in, keep your middle finger in position. We may have to start launching aborted fetuses at the opposition. Ciao.
