Well, it’s been a while since I discussed the topic that is near and dear to my, ummm, heart.
Poop transplants! — The ultimate solution to my Crohn’s disease woes.
OK, it’s nearer to my hiney, but you can’t claim you weren’t expecting that.
Earlier today I was discussing my future poop transplant with my boss. (It’s true, I have no pride what so ever.) She’s very interested in the idea. She wants me healthy, of course, but really, I think she wants to see what happens from a scientific perspective. And, frankly, I can’t blame her. I want to know what’ll happen from a scientific point of view, too. And from the perspective of a toilet paper consumer.
You may recall that I’ve mentioned that you have to be very choosy when choosing a poop donor. If the donor is fat, or depressed, or psychotic, well, the recipient can become fat, or depressed or psychotic. I haven’t researched what happens if you choose someone immature, though. Perhaps I should.
Anyway, the issue was on my mind tonight when I began reading the news. And I found my donor!
He is young and healthy, albeit a little younger than I was thinking of; he’s living in Florida with his mother. In fact, it was his mom who brought him to my attention. Well, and to the attention of people with a deep seated interest in poop.
One day Katy Vasquez discovered that the Lord moves in mysterious ways. And goes into mysterious places. Because, You see, one day when she was changing his diaper, she saw this sign that things were going to get better.:
It’s Holy Shit! What more could I ask for from a donor?