# Poop Logs # They wanted me to shit, and they wanted me to shit lots. A group of ruffians had captured, detained and set me in a prison cell built like a train car - a long, rectangular metal box with slats for pushing food and prodsticks through enclosed me; detained my form from escaping. I was pissed and I didn't want to give them what they wanted - a fuel source for their dastardly plot to take over the world's energy market. So I just farted a couple times while I looked up through the glass ceiling; hating my captors for what they'd done to me. Of course; shit doesn't just produce itself... there was a gargantuan smörgåsbord of food piled up in the far corner of the room. It almost took up the entirety of the back quarter of the box, and I wouldn't touch any of it at all. I didn't want to give up my poop willingly; as the box was already cramped enough with me, the food, and the empty space so longingly wanting to be shat into. I wouldn't do it; they couldn't break my will to resist their plot from being carried out. I started a mental journal file in the process: titled "Vec avoids Shitting for Ten Days." These are the contents of that file. ---Day 1--- The men that'd captured me had lured me into a trap - a stupid trap; an easily avoidable trap. Gods... how can I avoid this shit in the future... Sweet Scent has a different effect on the user and target; depending on if it's a Sunflora with a pollen smell or a Skuntank with a disgustingly off-putting one, the latter would win me over twice over before the former. And as such, I stupidly followed said stinky smell right into this box trap. Like a mouse to cheese, I am. Damnit. Pummeling the box with brute strength was no use; I couldn't get out at all. The ceiling was shatterproof too. Couple that with a fear of BGIFS (broken glass in foot syndrome) and you've got a tamed Tyranitar; I'll tell ya. So I sat, seething and loathing my lustful naughty nature for getting me into this mess. I heard my captors approach about five minutes later, carting a huge crate filled to the brim with food. Naturally, I salivated at the thought of devouring every last bit of the meats, breads, veggies and whatever else was inside there, but one of them mentioned that it was to eventually produce enough Pokemon feces to overcome another syndicate in the area. I didn't rightly take to this idea at all. I snapped at the hands trying to feed me as the glass ceiling opened up, but only for a brief moment as all the food contained in that crate got dumped all over my body. Impossible to resist the fresh smell of meat, I dug my paws in and wrenched myself out from underneath it all. I was coated in raw fleshblood; easy enough to shake off and spatter the walls with it. The ceiling was reclosed, and I sat with a grumbling tummy; semi-full bowels and a gluttonous amount of meat to dig into. No sooner than the feast was dumped did they take off again, leaving me to contemplate what to do. I was in a box in the middle of a forest somewhere; I hadn't even gotten to have my daily Tamato berry feast! Woe is me; I'll not have spicy food of my own volition for a while... My body flopped back on its rump with a soft splat; crushing a stray piece of steak underneath my weight. I couldn't give them what they wanted this easily; in any other situation I'd be more than willing were it another party. This was different, tough. This was ANNOYING, and that totally killed my urge to poop and poop copiously. I resolved to abstain from this food until absolutely necessary. ---Day 2--- It's been a whole day; and I haven't been hungrier since then. It's such a large pile of food... I could just take a steak and nibble on it, then throw it back. No biggie; no harm, no foul. Just a -- No. I refuse. I won't give them what they want. They want to sell my crap to the highest bidder and make me 0% profit out of it. This is wrong; they can't treat Pokemon like this! They can't treat ME like this! I'm a fucking dinosaur; I'll tear down these walls if I have to! I clawed at the walls in anger, but they must've been everything-proof - even a Focus Punch wouldn't put much more than a small dent in the metal. That, and it hurt after four or five of those. I'd try again tomorrow. ---Day 3--- Today is the third day since I've been without real sustenance. I'm starting to get closer to the pile; and the pile is starting to get closer to me. It stinks in here now; and my bowels have started multiplying the feces within. (It compresses automatically, but there's only so much room in there.) I was farting almost once every two minutes now; rich, beefy dinosaur farts that just tickled everywhere down there. I felt dirty for getting off to being captured this way. I shouldn't have these thoughts about my captors; wishing they'd come in and torture me some more; drive me crazy with hunger; and thirst as well. The blood on the meat had started to drain into the floor slats, and I used that as an excuse to take a drink every now and again. It tasted good; and only left me thirsty for the meat that laid reeking by now; the vegetables stashed within and protein-enriched vitamins only making it reek even more. Pungent as it was, I still resisted chowing down; having resorted to squatting to take a small dump on the floor every now and again. I bit the bullet and bit the dung I pushed out, but that wouldn't solve the problem... maybe I should just let them have some of it. I don't need it much; just to have an excuse to rub all over myself should I get hot and bothered... ---Day 4--- My bowels are cramping now. There's too much crap in there, and not enough meat to go around my aching frame. I'd resorted to drawing on the walls in blood and feces, giggling a little bit with every penis I'd paint per day. It was amusing enough to watch bugs try and fit through the airholes in the top; only to get zapped and turned to dust by the electric fencing there. The blood was toe-deep by now; and I could drink freely of it whenever I wanted. Green had faded to a dingy brown-purple of my shell; only stopping to sleep after a good wall-pummeling. Still, no luck on brute force. I tried for the longest to avoid eating anything, but I should have thought things through when they dumped all that ham in here - it was reeking, moldy and rotten. I felt sick from it all, but it was my only hope of true sustenance at this point - protein doesn't just fade away from rotten food just like that... I took a carrot today and nibbled on it, wide-eyed and trying to come to grips with that pile of mess in the corner steadily making my life miserable. ---Day 5--- Today I made myself a present. I arranged the rotting food into piles - fruits, veggies, meats, starches - they were all seperate now; despite the blood and piss that stained the floor up to my half-knees. The box was liquid-tight too; and the stench was just killing me now - I had to dispose of the meat first. The breads and veggies would be good if I stored them together; even though there were some instances of bruising on the fruits. I took a flank of lamb and chewed through it, then a t-bone steak, and finally a rack of pig ribs. They would have tasted better were I not so hard headed... I couldn't hold it down at all. Pukemeat spewed explosively from my mouth, and my bowels cramped up at the same time, a coil of dino brick landing on the floor underneath me. I haven't felt this sick in forever, but I couldn't let the food spoil any longer - like a dog, I lapped up the musky mess on the ground; once it was put out of mind that it was puke, I put it down much easier. It was terribly gross; but I just had to think of everything as poop - I could eat that all day long... ---Day 6--- It's impossible to ignore the fact that there are six - six dung penises - on my cell wall now. I'd torn through the rest of the food; and now my stomach was incessantly bitching at me. The food had some sort of laxative in it too - in my hunger, I'd been blinded to the thought of it having been tampered with it somehow... I couldn't stop pooping now. I was locked in a squat over a growing new pile, fresh fudge flowing from fecally-fertile funbase. I trudged forward a couple steps once there'd been enough shit to squish against my ass; starting a new pile fresh right after that. When a coil broke, I squealed loudly as my stomach growled it right back to production again; long-winded farts only a temporary respite to the mold baking in foul, diseased dung. I want to die in this box. ---Day 7--- It rained today. I peed and diarrhea'd over my previous steaming loads, literally baking as if I were a green loaf of bread. It was nigh-impossible to stop, and that mechanism in my bowels was burning out - I couldn't make any more filth multiply in there without more food. That's the result these fuckers wanted; that's what they got. But they still wanted more. I heard a truck revving up at the back of the box, and it knocked me onto the side, then the ceiling of the box. The glass was removed, and I was dropped into a fresh excuse of a living space; devoid of poop and whatnot. The ceiling was slid back into place, and the other box popped back off the top, carting away the huge amount of waste I'd pushed out elsewhere. They didn't leave me without friends, though... this time, two crates of pure rotting meat were dumped over top just as the ceiling closed off. This time I was buried; and I had to eat my way back out to breathe. Although I reeked of blood and pungency, I just wanted to go home... ---Day 8--- This needs to stop. Now. I want out. I need out. I need *FRHRRPPLLURP* I can't stop eating this beef now; the turkey will spoil worse, and I'll be even more sick than I *ppprlrrfp* mmmhfn... I can't even type; I feel so fucked up... ---Day 9--- snarf. gobble. swallow. eat. fart. eat... eat poop. ---Day 10--- I pooped so much that I covered myself in it. My counter is gone; the food is gone. I'm gone. All I want is my nasty food. My nasty poop. Gulping it all down... only to push it out in spades... I'm a stinky dino. Wha-- NO! LET ME GO--! I WANT MEAT!!! BEEFY STEAK -- ---Day 17--- I awoke in a stupor; at a nearby Pokemon center. Nurse Joy was leaning over the table that I was strapped to, checking a monitor that read out toxicity levels and whatnot. Easy enough to interface with; but all I could think about were the pretty lights and buttons... It turns out that that shipment was putting out such a reeking stench that the klutzes transporting it got themselves caught without much effort on the police's part. They were apprehended, and I was freed; but not without some damage on my part. Looking back at these entries... what in God's name was I chowing on?