on tinfoil underpants

the porta pottie and plumbing conspiracies UNMASKED!

I’m struggling. Straining to squeeze this one out.

No, this is not a usual bullshit post.

It is however a shit post - a shit post so insidious that you can almost smell the nefarious nature of this story coal rolling from your phone.

You see, I’ve been watching some youboob videos and have stumbled onto something that truly stinks to high heaven: public washrooms and the terrifying convenience of porta-potties.

I’ve been doing my own research and I’ve discovered some foul facts about the pervasive nature of plumbing.

The media will not tell you this

And me?

I’m putting my ENTIRE family at risk by sharing these secrets with you.

But it’s my duty to share this information.

What you doo doo with your duty after reading this is purely up to you.

But dear reader, beware - once you discover what I have learned by looking through the veil, you may never ever look at a toilet and not see that the murky truth has been hiding right before your very eyes.

Now dear reader, I’m just asking questions but

Is it not strange that the Romans had communal toilets and indoor plumbing at the peak of their empire?

They would go to the toilets together sometimes taking hours to shit.

It is almost as though they wanted to smell each others farts.

Funny enough, that seems to be the case with summer festivals and the perky little boxes that we’re asked to poop in.

Seriously, what are these things for? The powers that be say "convenience."

Me?

I’m not so sure. They seem to be there to desensitize you. To get you used to seeing (and smelling, and hearing) other people’s literal shit.

They’re there to bring you back to a bygone Romanesque era. The are there to normalize the communal surrender of the aspects of nourishment that you no longer need. Sneaky pricks. They aren’t getting me.

Me? I prefer a bog roll and a shovel. When asked the ancient question, 'Do bears shit in the woods?' my reply has always been, 'I don't know, but I do.'

It's a long, proud tradition, forest pooping. Bury it in the snow – world's chilliest bidet, no toilet paper needed. Bury it in the soil. (Though, fair warning, once I didn't dig deep enough and my dog found it. Had to scrape shit off my arse then spend two days giving the dog a full bath. A humbling experience, but one that only deepened my resolve.)

I prefer to poop outside because, beside the plastic and the suspicious blue water, there are hidden costs to every convenience. And that, dear reader, is where the real stench of the conspiracy begins.

You see, they say modern plumbing is about public health. They say porta-potties are for "events" and "construction sites." But I've been watching. I've seen the suspiciously frequent clogs in public restrooms – always just inconvenient enough to make you desperate for their "solution."

I've noticed how some sinks drain faster than others; it's not physics, it's a signal. And that distinct, chemical porta-potty smell? Not just waste. It’s a signature. A controlled release.

They, the Aqua-Illuminati, the Porcelain Brotherhood, the Committee for Compliant Colonics – whatever you want to call the pig fuckers – they’ve been at this since Roman times. Those aqueducts? Not about public baths, you fool. They were about control. A way to track movements - all of your movements. It’s said that they were an early warning system for riots based on bowel movements.

I shit you not! In ancient times they could measure the likelihood that a populace would riot based on the number of worms in their feces.

And now, porta-potties aren't just temporary facilities. They're strategically placed Porta-Portals, active surveillance hubs. They're siphoning off more than just your waste. Oh no. Every public dropping, every quick squat in a blue box, is a DNA donation.

Hidden deep within the bowels of sewage treatment plants, or beneath the very foundations of those Roman ruins, are the Replication Chambers. These aren't for processing waste, dear reader. They're for genetic harvesting. For creating a massive genetic library of all humanity. Why?

For the "Backup Humanity" Protocol. If we get too non-compliant, if we start asking too many questions, if our carbon skid marks get too long and defiant, they've got a replacement ready. A more malleable, more agreeable, more compliant version of you, grown from your own daily deposits. Your morning dump is their recruitment drive for your obedient twin. That subtle hum when you flush? It's the hum of a new you, being cooked up.

And the toilet paper? You think varying softness is about comfort? Ha! It's a carefully calibrated psychological warfare tactic. Too rough, you rush. Too soft, you linger, unknowingly absorbing their subliminal messages embedded in the pattern. And those "flushable" wipes? Not for your pipes, you naive shitter. They're introducing micro-fibers to collect DNA samples more efficiently. Or worse, providing a scaffold for early-stage clone development right there in the pipes.

So, dear reader, if you're not already shitting your pants about the idea that your own effluent is being weaponized against you, let's take a deeper, more terrifying dive into the real stench of it all.

Because here's the thing.

While "they" are busy cloning a more agreeable you from your daily deposits, we're doing the exact same damn thing to ourselves.

But here’s the real kicker, you squishy bad-turds:

While they're busy cloning your obedient double from your daily deposits, we're doing their work for them. Our own metaphorical shit—the fears, the lies, the uncomposted emotional sludge—that’s the real control.

We cling to our crap, letting it dictate our lives, creating compliant versions of ourselves in our own heads. We become walking talking constipated arseholes that don't give a shit when it’s time to take a fucking dump.

The solution isn't some digital bypass of their sewer system. It's understanding the ultimate conspiracy: letting our own internal waste control us.

So, drop out. Not just of their plumbing, but of the mental prison.

Seize scatological liberty. Forget sterile porcelain and blue chemical lies. Go primal. Build an outhouse.

Reclaim your anal sovereignty.

Be careful where you mix your shit. Be suspicious of others who seem full of it.

And?

Let the Aqua-Illuminati clone their compliant masses. Us trolls will be out here, shitting freely in the forest and pissing in circles, knowing where we are and what we ate while leaving our own glorious, un-monitored trace on the world.

Keep on muckin’ you poopy poop faces!