“I’m only speeding cause I really have to POOP” announced the bumper sticker of a car in front of me at a traffic light. Yes, someone thought to make such a sticker, and another someone thought to buy it and adhere it to one of the most expensive material possessions this person owns. It wasn’t just stuck on the bottom edge of their bumper, partially obscured by an “I Heart Hooters” message or a fading blue capital W. Oh no, this driver’s plight was front and center (well, rather rear and center) on the trunk of the sedan. It was clearly meant to vie for attention with the license plate and indeed the actual color of the vehicle. It was a winner.

The “poop” was capitalized, as I have it above. Such uppercasing of a low-class word stressed the immediacy of the matter. Though after a paragraph of reflection, perhaps I jumped to a premature judgement. Maybe the POOP was an acronym, throwing the reader off the scent of its true meaning. It may have stealthily alerted us of the driver’s rush to print out oval pricetags, plant orange oranges and pumpkins, pinch Olga once painfully, or for any other kind of POOP. All these preoccupations could have merited a disregard for the speed limit.

Still, I’m not convinced POOP meant anything else for this bold, yet proud individual. They’re in their own league. Each of us has had some or other occasional bodily emergency, be it a sunburn, a fork through one temple, a fork through each temple, or a hickey on our instep. Do we go buying bumper stickers to show it off?