Duncan Hyatt

If anyone has laid a mega poop, you know that sometimes it won't flush.

It lays across the hole in the bottom of the bowl and the vortex of draining water merely gives it a spin as it mocks you.

Growing up, this was a common enough occurrence that our family had a poop knife.

It was a rusty old kitchen knife that hung on a nail in the laundry room, only to be used for that purpose.

It was normal to walk through the hallway and have someone call out, hey, can you give me the poop knife?

I thought it was standard kit.

I'm working the vortex just to get the thing moving and then flushing at the same time.

Like lumpy Milo.

Yes, yeah.

Like trying to stir in protein powder into a protein smoothie.

I thought it was normal kit.

You had your plunger, your toilet brush, and your poop knife.

Fast forward to 22.

It's been a day or two between poops and I'm over at my friend's house.

My friend was the local dealer and always had guests over because you can't buy weed without sitting on your ass and sampling it for an hour.

I excuse myself and lay this gigantic turd.

I look down and see that it's a sideways one, so I crack open the door and call out for my friend.

He arrives, and I ask him for his poop knife.

A what?

Your poop knife, I say.