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Coprophilia for the Masses

Restroom in the corporate headquarters of a marketing agency. Two hairy legs sprout from a pair of black socks inside a toilet stall. The coprovocateur aims lighter fluid at the shoes and drops a match. Poof. The executive stumbles out of the stall and writhes on the floor in fire and shit. The coprovocateur squirts him in the face with a chemical fire extinguisher.

Everywhere in consumer society wastelands of excrement offer a terrain of experimentation.

The coprovocateurs live in an abandoned fuel tanker with Nevada plates. They eat with pooper scoopers for utensils. They sleep in hammocks suspended in the tank. They piss and shit without discretion. When the sewage accumulates, they drive down Madison Avenue spraying it at ad men through a hose.

The coprovocateurs make musical instruments out of garbage – wind instruments from rusty pipe, toilet handles, PVC tubing. Old toilet bowls become megaphones. Toilet seats are outfitted with bells and shaken like tambourines. In the parking lot they make a bonfire out of seating torn from old cars and play ramshackle hymns to

excrement. Mummies wrapped in toilet paper dance wildly.

The coprovocateur puts an enema bag under his armpit and plays it like a bagpipe.

Young coprovocateurs play football with cow piles. They throw rattlesnakes under the crapper door at Harlequin Romance.

“To the Masses Their Asses!”

The urinal at the sushi restaurant is so clean you’d eat the deodorant cake from it. The coprovocateur turns to the editor standing beside him. “Oh my God! Is that your dick?” … “Hunh?” … “It’s so fuckin’ small. I’ve never seen a dick that small before. Is there something wrong with it?” … “No, uh, leave me alone, all right?” … “Yeah, sure. I just never saw a dick that small before. It’s like a midget dick or something. You should sit down to pee, like a girl…”

Coprovocateurs infiltrate a Bible Study Group. “Fill the highlighters with pitch so that the believers mark their favorite verses in shit.”

The coprovocateur does a copy of the Sistine Chapel ceiling using different types of animal excrement.

“Blue is rhino shit. Crimson is crab crap mixed with pulverized shell. And you see the Creation of Adam there? Why, God’s finger is bunny dung.”

The coprovocateur buys a propeller plane and invents a form of skywriting that smells like farts.

“Have you ever noticed that little kids refer to shitting as making? It shows you the deep connections between creativity and defecation. Every one of us starts life with the potential to be a genius of poop. We can mold masterpieces from our own substance.”

Earrings on a coprovocateur: microtomes of dried bear shit hang from her ears with safety pins.

Poetry is the excrement of consumer society, since it is not consumable.

The coprovocateur writes a novel
with a quill he sticks in his ass for ink. “My ideas are beautiful but my wording stinks.”

The coprovocateur has the longest ass hair in the Guinness Book of World Records. Every night he washes, blow-dries, and styles it. For gel he ejaculates in his hand and shapes his ass hair into various styles. Schoolmarm bun sits between his legs like a second scrotum.

Two hairy legs sprout from a pair of black socks inside a toilet stall. The coprovocateur aims lighter fluid at the shoes and drops a match.

“Is that erotic? Or anthropologic?”

The coprovocateur sneaks a job as a life coach at the writers’ retreat. He breaks out an acoustic guitar and organizes a sing-along. “Ok, ready? Everybody now: ‘We drink drink drink at your place, We drink drink drink red wine, I pee pee pee in your face, You pee pee pee in mine.’”

The coprovocateur prepares to write a manifesto. He takes a tube and inserts it into his ass. The other end he takes in hand and balances over a sheet of paper. “The idea,” he says, “is to let the words come from deep inside me.”

“Would you be willing, in exchange for a six-figure advance, to shit through your nose for the rest of your life?”

The coprovocateur invents the first Peeboard – “like a keyboard but you write with your pee.” He whips out his cock and aims a stream at it. The pressure of his urine pushes down the

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