What Are Turds Worth?
“Do you have a minute, Mrs. Turdsworth? I would like to discuss
your son. I’m afraid it’s bad. Very bad.”
Martha Turdsworth held her breath at the mention of her boy,
Jeremy. That fucking little shit. What has he done this time? she thought to
herself, as old Mrs. Pringle accosted her in the school foyer with an
awfully indignant look on her wrinkly, wart-spattered head.
Jeremy Turdsworth’s teacher was an uppity bitch, who was under
the grand delusion that her shit didn’t stink, and, no doubt, what she had to
tell Martha wasn’t going to be pretty. Jeremy had an overtly deranged feces
fetish—an obsession he had carried with him since infancy, for which
Martha blamed her late husband, Jeremy’s father.
When Jeremy was only a few months old, his dad carried him to
the toilet, in a drunken stupor and busting for a piss. It’s unclear who the
culprit was, but somebody had neglected to flush after “droppin’ the kids
off at the pool”, three small lumpy nuggets, one giant log, and another
excremental monument that only made it halfway down the bowl. For
fucks sake, there wasn’t even any toilet paper amongst the diorama of
dung, not one fucking scrap of bowel towel!
“Someone’s got shit in their pants,” said the drunken father. “It
must’ve been yer Auntie Margaret, the disgusting pig. Hehehe.” Jeremy’s
dad held him in one hand, and pulled out his smelly, flaccid cock with the
other, swaying before the porcelain throne. He surveyed the contents of the
old, chipped toilet blankly for a moment, and then unleashed his urinary
fury on the stubborn shit refusing to go down.
“Would ya look at that, boy,” he slurred and gripped onto the back
of Jeremy’s onesie, holding him out over the bowl and directly above his
orangey yellow stream. “Watch this, son. Daddy’s gonna piss that shit right
off the wall! Wooo! Wooo! Wooo!” The plastered idiot was lowering and
raising the kid like a fucking yo-yo, until, of course, he lost his grip. No,
not of his dick—his son. Jeremy followed the yellow piss trail headfirst
into the shitter. His dad thought at first that Jeremy had shot painlessly
out of his dick, such was the perfect trajectory, until his inebriated brain
registered what had happened.
“Oh, shit.” Jeremy’s dad stood gawking at his baby boy, his little
legs kicking, and his head in the drink. “Oh, shit!” He lurched forward to
grab his baby’s legs and lost his footing. He pitched headlong into the
cistern, as his feet twisted around each other, and down he went, clipping
his chin on the edge of the bowl as his face endeavoured to join his son in
And, oh, the stench! He could taste it all the way to the back of his
throat. The nasty little crap vapours were on a reconnaissance mission, to
extract the contents of his stomach and return to the Mothershit. The back
of his throat was as far as they needed to journey, as the contents of his
stomach were more than happy to meet the crap patrol halfway. Together,
they made their swift getaway, leaping from the gaping orifice and onto the
By the time his father had regained his composure, and rescued his
son from drowning in shit-n-piss, Jeremy wore his father’s vomit, his
urine, and had ingested some of the poo-slushie. The experience was
enough to give a child a lifelong phobia of excrement and toilets, but not
Jeremy, no. The after-taste stayed with him for days, after his livid mother
cleaned him thoroughly in the tub, dried him off, dressed him, then went
into the lounge room and kicked the absolute fuck out of the drunken fool
passed out on the couch.
Jeremy developed an early fascination with the taste and the smell
that lingered for those few days. When they began to fade, Jeremy would
be found, crawling towards the toilet. On more than a few occasions he
would even make it in there, undetected. Twice, he even got to satisfy his
developing fecophilia, much to the dismay of his mother. His dad got a
fresh beating on each occasion. Words were had with Auntie Margaret, and
the toilet started to get flushed and the door kept closed.
Then, one fateful day, baby Jeremy discovered that he spent a lot
of time carrying his sacred cow around with him in his nappies. There was
no stopping him from that moment onwards. Jeremy Turdsworth was in a
faecal paradise. He would eat it, paint it on his face and body, and anything
else he could get his shitty little hands on. He was obsessed with shit. If it
had to do with poo, then Jeremy was all over it like flies on, well….
The first time he discovered it for himself, he was so delighted and
excited, he just had to let mummy feel what it was like. He crawled into
the kitchen, where she stood preparing lunch, leaving a crap hand trail
from the hallway where his discovery was made. He reached up and wiped
his hand down her leg, making her jump. When she looked down at him,
she freaked. Leaving Jeremy there in the kitchen, his mum charged through
the house, looking for Jeremy’s father. She found him out on the back porch
and gave him another sound floggin’, before returning to clean up
As Jeremy got older, his fetish became worse. On his first day of
school, he had stolen one of mum’s empty jars and taken a shit in it, put it
in his school bag and brought it out periodically throughout the day, when
he thought nobody was looking. He would take the lid off and take several
big whiffs along with a secretive lick around the rim, before re-lidding it
and stuffing it to the bottom of his bag. Several of the kids in class, and
even the teacher complained about someone having an “accident”, but
nobody could nail the culprit. Jeremy’s secret was safe for the time being.
Now he was nine, the family had since moved two states away,
and Jeremy was on his fourth school in as many years. He had been
expelled everywhere they tried to put him—always shit-related. Martha
dreaded the story she was about to hear from old Mrs. Pringle.
“Perhaps it would be best if I just show you,” said the old battleaxe
“Where is my son? Where’s Jeremy?” Martha snapped.
“The police had to be called, and he was taken into custody. I’m
sorry, Mrs. Turdsworth. I felt it best to tell you in person.”
“What? What happened?”
“Please, just follow me.” Mrs Pringle turned and headed towards
the corridor, leading to the classrooms. Martha had no option but to follow.
As they turned the end of the corridor, Martha Turdsworth was met with a
scene of bustling activity. Police and a forensic team were rushing in and
out of a heavily guarded classroom, while reporters and news crews got in
everyone’s way. As they reached the door, Mrs. Pringle had a quiet word
with one of the officers, and they were allowed to enter. The place looked
like it had been hit by a bloody shit bomb. Several small shapes lay still
beneath sheets stained with red and brown. Martha simply stood, mouth
agape, with eyes wide and twitching. There was shit on absolutely
everything. It had even hit the fan.
“Please, will someone just tell me what’s going on?” she begged. Finally,
Mrs. Pringle relayed the events to her.
Jeremy had made it only three months into his new school, before
his secret was discovered. Finally, the children and teachers, alike, were
able to identify the culprit. Jeremy finger painted shit pictures all over the
school. He would secretly wipe poo on the backs of his classmate’s
uniforms, thus unintentionally drawing the smell away from himself and
spreading it amongst his peers. Once he had been found out, the children
turned on Jeremy. They would taunt and tease him, and throw things at
him in the classroom and the playground. They made up a nasty taunt
which caught on immediately and spread faster than Jeremy’s shit spree.
Every time a kid would say, “What are turds worth?” all the other kids would chorus in with, “Shit!”
That particular day was the day Jeremy had enough. It was
lunchtime, and everybody was out in the field. Jeremy wandered through
the crowd of kids, his head downcast and hands in his pockets. Sure
enough, the catch cry sounded out loud and clear. This time, the entire field
of kids erupted in a unanimous, “Shit!”
Without looking up, Jeremy turned around, and rushed out of the
field in utter humiliation. Jeremy didn’t go back to class after lunch. He hid
in the very end stall in the toilets, and worked up the most important shit he
had ever done.
After a very satisfying sitting, young Turdsworth went to the other
stalls to see if he could add to his concoction. Two were packin’, which
made Jeremy smile. He was going to make these little fuckers pay for
mocking him and his name. He scooped up the precious turds in his hands
and transferred them to his porcelain cauldron. He stirred and stabbed and
mashed with his hand until it resembled chocolate porridge, then Jeremy
Dipping his hand into the fetid mixture, Jeremy began his ritual by
anointing his tongue. The taste was divine and Jeremy simply had to lick
and suck his fingers clean before continuing. He began to smear the poo
soup all over his face, making sure to get behind his ears and slick back his
hair. Scooping up more, he worked his way down his neck and then
onwards, down his arm. Dipping his other hand, he repeated the process
with his other arm. Now, diving both hands into the cauldron, he splattered
it onto his chest and spread it all over his little torso. Next, he covered his
legs in the stinky body paint. It felt especially good as he rubbed it onto his
feet and between his toes. With both hands, Jeremy scooped the remainder
out of the bowl and splashed it onto the floor, then lay on his back and
wriggled around like a little brown maggot. The ritual was complete.
The courtyard outside was empty and the halls inside, deserted.
Everybody was in class, giving Jeremy a free run from the toilets to his
classroom without detection. Stopping just outside the door, Jeremy
Turdsworth took a deep breath, and then pulled the handle. Nobody knew
at first, what had just entered the room, and the kids began to scream and
panic. Even Mrs. Pringle jumped up onto her desk in surprise. Jeremy
closed the door behind him and set his vengeful gaze around the room.
The screaming died down to a few whimpers and blubbering, as
the children stared in horror at the little bog monster blocking their
escape… then, it spoke.
“You all think you know what a Turdsworth? Well, you don’t
know shit!” The creature from the brown lagoon screeched at the class,
making everyone freeze and fall deathly silent. Jeremy pushed one foot
forward, and slid his other foot along to catch up. He was really enjoying this,
the looks on everybody’s faces. He fell into the role of a monster a little
too easily, spurred on by the terror he was instilling in his classmates.
This simple, yet grotesque looking movement caused every child to jump
from their desks and clamour for the furthest corner at the back of the class.
“Jeremy Turdsworth! What the hell are you doing?” Mrs. Pringle
screamed. Jeremy turned to his teacher with the creepiest shit-eating grin,
and started to slowly slide towards her. Mrs. Pringle jumped down behind
her desk with surprising agility for her age. One of the children made a
dash for the door, and Jeremy rushed to block her way. Mrs. Pringle saw
her opportunity and absconded from the classroom to raise the alarm,
leaving the kids to their fate. The girl who had attempted escape was
herded back to the corner. It seemed she would rather suffer what fate their
classmate had in store, than risk getting shit on her. It seemed they all did,
Jeremy went from desk to desk, smearing excrement as he went,
and collecting pencils in both hands. After picking up five each, he
bunched them together in each hand, like a pair of wooden daggers. Some
of the kids began to cry, as the little sewer demon slid slowly towards
them. As he got closer, panic got the upper hand, and the children
scattered, screaming and leaping over desks to get away. Most of them
managed to get out the door, but several were still trapped in the room with
Jeremy. He stopped one kid with a single stab down on his collarbone,
which stirred the remainder of the class to hysteria.
Jeremy sat on his victim and watched the other children. They all
huddled back in the far corner, crying and pleading to no effect. Jeremy
leapt up from the dead kid and ran at them, hurdling tables and laughing
uncontrollably. The children were tripping over each other, trying to get
away, and Jeremy closed in.
“I’ll show ya all what a Turdsworth, you mean and nasty children.”
He leapt from the desk, pencil-knives in his hands. The children were
trapped, as Jeremy came down on them, wildly swinging and stabbing
at the kids who wanted to make his life hell. A couple more managed to get
away, but by the end of the massacre, six children were stabbed to death
by shit covered pencils. When help arrived, Jeremy was sitting among the
dead bodies, calmly licking his arms.
Suffice it to say, Jeremy Turdsworth spent the rest of his days in a
padded room. After being moved several times while his cell was hosed
clean, it was decided that Jeremy would have his bowel removed and be
given a colostomy bag to shit in. He was required to wear a strait jacket
most of the time. They only allowed him to have it off, directly after
shitting and having his bag replaced—about an hour. Mrs. Turdsworth
visited her son occasionally, but those visits soon ceased. She lived out her
days, bitter and alone. Mr. Turdsworth? Well, let’s just say, he had one too