What is the issue society has with squeamish, embarrassing stories? Think of embarrassing stories you've told your roommate: "I got in front of class and my fly was down," or "I farted in an elevator." When millions of Americans watch "Jackass" reruns and sit down for the "Wildboyz," these stories just don't match up.

It is easy to say that the most gut-wrenching or embarrassing stories come about in the private theater. No form can accurately embody the crudeness of human nature than lonely reality. One may think he or she is close to their roommate, but when was the last time anyone told a friend someone walked in on you while you were picking your nose at a urinal? Not only is it embarrassing that you were picking your nose, but you know that man knows you didn't wash your hands before eating. Or perhaps that you masturbated to the somewhat hot assistant to ADA on "Law & Order" … the Ben Stone years. The compulsion to tell these stories is strong, but only to a point.

This all boils down to poop. What does everyone do but no one ever talk about? This one time, I let go of something that could be described as the dough-forming poop in the intestine. Two pounds lighter, I looked down and decided I could've made about four of five "shitloaves," only to be deterred when I imagined the smell emanating from the oven for 20 minutes at 350 degrees. And what about the dish cleanup! You'd definitely have to grease down the pan before baking.

However, I didn't tell my roommate — embarrassed already by myself, but, also, I think he would look at me differently and stop paying rent. I also didn't tell my roommate that I used an old copy of the Onion when we ran out of toilet paper. Sorry, Ryan, I know you like "Savage Love," but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Speaking of toilet paper inequities, I can testify as a former grocery-store cashier that many people come in with urgent looks on their faces only to buy a roll of toilet paper. Yes, I was afraid to take their money, and, yes, the thought crossed my mind they were sporting a muddy crunkhole.

Another thing that remains untouchable by society, and possibly with good reason, is the poop-to-food sensory relation. I'm not talking about sight ("Oh, look, corn! And Corn Pops!"), but smell. How often does one walk out of the bathroom with the fragrance of chicken parmesan? Many times while taking my morning glory, I think to myself, "Did I have spaghetti last night? I don't remember, but I'm certainly hungry for some now." I may also smell my hands after wiping, but that's for different reasons. There are some people that also inspect the used toilet paper after the rectal scrape, for God knows why — checking for husks, maybe.

And while the subject is the unspeakable, might I add I've often fantasized about having a puking contest, and the man who yorks the most wins (volume, of course). Maybe fantasized isn't the right word.

The Federal Communications Commission may not have let me have this serious philosophical discussion on the radio during business hours, and perhaps that's a good thing. The openness described by some, saying whatever is on your mind, may be a bad thing. People would be afraid to shake hands at all times.

But maybe that's a good thing?

Matt Dolbey is a senior majoring in touching other people's food. He can be reached at [email protected]