An Inside Look At The White House Pooper!

We may earn a commission from links on this page.

All my life I've wanted to know the details of where the President of the United States evacuates his bowels, and now an anonymous reader who is ON THE INSIDE has provided the crucial information.


I can clarify some of your questions regarding the Presidents and the pooper. I have seen all of the shitters in the White House. The TP does not have a Seal, but the hand towels and napkins do. The pooper itself is kinda boring although there is a phone about 2.5 feet from each toilet. And about the getting the growler stuck, I'm not sure who the Presdent would call if it gets stuck but they are pretty powerful so I think that it would have to be a massive dump with way to much TP to get stuck...but if that did happen...there are many minions around that can take care of it with a push of the button on the phone that is within arm's reach.


That is awesome. If I were President, I would use that shitter phone ALL THE TIME. I'd dial up Putin at least once a day while shitting, just to do it.

PUTIN: Hello?

ME: Mr. President, it's Mr. President.

PUTIN: You are on the pooper again, I see.

ME: Oh, yeah. Now let's talk uranium imports.

Then I'd wipe my ass with the hand towel and toss it in the garbage. And who would be able to say anything to me? NO ONE. Think of that power.


I had many followup questions for Anonymous, whose email address most definitely verified his claims. Is the President's shitter autoflush? Anon says no. Silver handle. Are there magazines on the toilet? YES. Is the toilet paper two ply?

It's really nice TP. Like the best cottenelle but better. It's like wiping your ass with a cloud.


Is there a bidet, in case the French ambassador is around?


Are there cameras in there? Don't there kinda have to be?

Why would there be cameras?

You know, to prevent KGB moles from planting a bomb in the toilet. DO YOU KNOW NOTHING OF INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE?!


I could ask questions about this all day long. The rest of your letters:


What is your favorite hummus delivery system?

A. Vegetable
B. Pretzel
C. Pita
D. Spoon
E. Finger

Let's just rule out vegetables right now, because vegetables suck. That's a big combination at kiddie birthday parties for the adults now. You get a tub of hummus and a plate of baby carrots. But baby carrots suck for dipping in anything because the dip falls right off the side. If I'm dipping a carrot into hummus, I need to make sure there's a least ten times as much hummus as there is carrot in each bite. I always try and scoop up a huge glob of hummus with the carrot and then get the glob into my mouth before it has a chance to fall off. I'm a very healthy eater like that. I think your list needs some extra options, like Cracker, and Boob. I'm not above fingerbanging the hummus tub. Hummus and peanut butter were meant to be finger-raped repeatedly.


Anyway, I say pita to answer your question, so long as the pita was thrown in the toaster for a little bit. That shit is delicious. Hummus is also extremely underrated as a condiment. Ever put it on rice? UNGODLY. It's like I'm riding a magic carpet to Ali Baba's flavor palace.


I was struck by an odd thought yesterday. I was watching some shitty movie on TBS and I realized that somewhere in the world, this movie is someone's all-time favorite movie. Then I started thinking of all the shitty movies I have ever seen and I realized that now matter what movie you think about, that particular movie is probably someone's favorite movie. But why stop at movies? Every song you've ever heard, book you've ever read or commercial you've ever seen is someone's favorite. It has to be.


It's true. I saw a Facebook update the other day from someone that said they just saw "Just Go With It" and it was HILARIOUS. Now, you and I both know this is a lie. There's no way that movie is anything but a complete piece of shit that Adam Sandler made so he could go on paid vacation to Hawaii for four weeks and make out with Brooklyn Decker. Yet somewhere, some fucking idiot will watch that movie and think it's the single greatest comedy ever made. Their favorite comedy ever. And that's such a terrifying thought that I can't comprehend it.

Most movies are made for people younger than 18 now, and the reason they're made for people under 18 is because people under 18 are retards who will watch anything. When I was a kid, I saw The Monster Squad and thought it was the greatest movie ever. But The Monster Squad isn't the greatest movie ever. It's putrid. But I was too stupid to realize it. Now I hate every goddamn movie I see, which is why Hollywood doesn't make movies for me, because I'm too old and too picky. Why bother trying to please me when you can churn out Meet the Spartans and have a bunch of 14-year-old mouthbreathers think it's their generation's Animal House? It's a much easier path to success.


Movies are such a generational thing. Ancient movie critics will tell you the funniest movie ever made is Some Like It Hot. Now, I've seen that movie, and since I grew up with Python and "Bosom Buddies," I didn't find it all that mind-blowing. I didn't think it was anywhere near as good as Caddyshack. And I'm sure people over 60 will want to beat me to death for saying that, which is exactly how I feel when some dipshit kid tells me Caddyshack is stupid and American Wedding was the bestest movie EVAR. Just pure rage.

Fat the Gangster:

I work at a shitty non-profit whose only fringe benefit is providing powdered hot-chocolate packets. The problem is that in my rush to enjoy the hot chocolaty goodness, I inevitably miss a huge ball of powder which has somehow become impervious to the two cups of liquid surrounding it and just floats in wait, ready to ruin my shit. First, how can powder do that! And second, why can't you just buy some chocolate fucking syrup!


Did you add the powder after filling the cup, or beforehand? Because I always go Swiss Miss first, THEN the milk. (Always use milk instead of water. Water with Swiss Miss is fucking repugnant.) That tends to minimize the little powder balls floating at the top of the drink, though never completely, because it's a cheap, shitty product. Short of putting the thing in a blender, you aren't getting rid of those little balls. They don't taste so bad anyway. I used to put Swiss Miss powder on vanilla ice cream and then eat it. Fat kids are smart like that.

Ever have someone make you actual cocoa? Like, from scratch? God, that's so fucking good. I was in Boston back in November and we walked by this hipster chocolate shop that had fancy hot chocolate, the kind that's basically a melted chocolate bar in a cup. So I go in and there's a line twenty minutes long. And I don't give a shit, because I wanted chocolate. And I get to the front of the line and there's an actual chocolate menu, describing the different kinds of chocolate you could have in your hot chocolate, along with little descriptors that made the chocolate sound like fucking wine. MADASGASCAR – SLIGHTLY SPICY, WITH HINTS OF JUNIPER AND VANILLA. It was the most pretentious, annoying thing I'd ever seen. I wanted to grab the menu and burn it. Instead I waited ten more minutes and plunked down $5 for the cup. And it was ORGASMIC.



I live in NY but I grew up in Philly so I'm a huge eagles fan. Every time I see someone in NY (or any other city I travel to) wearing an Eagles hat, I feel absolutely compelled to say "go eagles" as I walk by. Almost as if I need to show him he's not alone and that I have his back in enemy territory. This has happened on the street, on planes, when I'm driving (I will literally slow to drive by shooting speed, roll down my window and yell Go Eagles). My wife thinks I'm crazy but even though I rarely get more than a head nod from the people I see, I think they definitely appreciate it, and don't at all think I'm an idiot, right?


Doing it while walking past someone is fine. I assume you say it in a friendly manner. I assume you don't scream it out at the top of your fucking lungs. That would make you a crazy person. But yeah, if I were an Eagles fan in New York and you said "Go Eagles" and gave me a little knowing nod as you walked by, I'd be okay with that. That would brighten my day.

But slowing down on the street and yelling it to other cars? No, you deserve a battleaxe to the rectum for that.



Hypothetically speaking, what's the policy on sports deaths during games? I know there have been deaths as a result of sporting events in baseball, basketball and boxing, but normally they aren't announced or known about until after the event ends. What if a football player was decapitated during the game? Or something similar where you just KNEW the player was dead immediately. Do you think they'd continue the game? Or do you think they'd actually make a call about the gruesomeness of the injury and end it right there?


But how would you KNOW the player was dead for certain? No football player is ever going to be decapitated on the field by a hit, no matter how hard James Harrison tries. It wouldn't ever happen. And even if it did happen, the network would never replay it to let you know. You can't visibly know someone is dead on television or from the stands until you are officially told that person is dead. Maybe you assume the worst, but you can't possibly know because you're not there taking the guy's pulse. When Hank Gathers died, he was pronounced DOA when they brought him to the hospital. He was probably stone dead right on that court, with no hope of being revived. But they played the rest of the game anyway. They'll always play the rest of the game, and deal with the fallout from the death immediately afterwards.

The only way a game would be stopped is if someone pulled Last Boy Scout and fatally attacked another player, causing mass panic. And I would just like to say, as someone who has watched that film and secretly hoped for ages that a similar incident would come to pass, I'm disappointed that reality has yet to reach such an ugly milestone. I thought a player would be shot dead on the field AGES ago.



Bellwether Johnson:

You ever catch yourself talking out loud when nobody else is around?? And not just past or imaginary conversations, or anything. Yesterday, as I folding laundry, I just blurted out, "I'm gonna take my Corn Flakes into work t'morrow!!" What the fuck?


I watched The Dark Knight again last week, and ever since I did that, I've start talking like The Joker any time my wife and kids aren't around. They go to the mall, and suddenly I'm like, "Good evening, com… missioner…" (cackles wildly). I can't stop. All I want to do is be Heath Ledger and say badass Joker lines all day long. And I know that I sound NOTHING like The Joker when I do it. I'm know I'm a complete fucking dork. But my imagination won't let it go. It's just, "Shut up, Drew. You ARE the Joker. You know, you remind me of my father. I HATED MY FATHER…" Man, they should have given Ledger six Oscars for that fucking movie. If there was a movie fantasy camp where you could act out various movie roles, I'd spend one week as the Joker and one week as the Val Kilmer version of Doc Holliday. And I'd pay damn good money to do it.


Just from one ear too! Took 20min so I made $9 in the process. What do you think?


What the fuck? Do you grow roses in your ears?


I work in an office and I hate my direct boss. Like a blinding searing hatred. He is just not a good person.

I came up with an interesting question: If I had the power to decide who wins the lotto one time and I could decide only between my boss or a complete stranger, who would I choose? My first thought is no way would I give the prize to him but if I did he would most likely be out of my life. BUT could I give such a vile human being the joy of a life of luxury? Could I drag my ass to work everyday knowing he was off enjoying not having to be a desk jockey anymore with his evil spawns? Maybe I could hope for a lotto curse or something.

Would you be able to grant the person you hate most their dream come true just to be rid of them?


You'd have to make double sure he'd quit if he won, because I think there are plenty of people out there who would never quit their jobs even if they won the lottery. Imagine having three young kids and then winning the lottery. Would you quit your job? Fuck no, you wouldn't. That means you'd have to spend all day every day with the kids with no opportunity for adult interaction. Work is a goddamn oasis when you're a parent. Even ten million dollars wouldn't compel you to give it up.

So if you could make sure he quit, then I say yes. You already hate his guts. He already makes more money than you. You'll always want to punch a wall any time you think about him. May as well make him rich and send him on his way.



Was driving home through Mason, Ohio over the weekend and saw a cross street that I couldn't believe.


Gay things are afoot at Chateau Gay.


I remember one funbag you looked at whether the Chilean miners were masturbating while stuck underground. I think this answers that question.


Indeed it does. Look at this passage:

One Chilean doctor… said a donor offered 10 inflatable dolls for the miners, but was turned down.

"I said 33 or none. Otherwise they would be fighting for inflatable dolls: whose turn is it? Who was seen with whose fiancee? You are flirting with my inflatable doll," Dr Jean Romagnoli reportedly said.

Instead, the pin-ups from La Cuarta, a Chilean tabloid famous for its girls known as "Bomba 4", and pornography were sent.


Here is a NSFW link to Bomba 4, and my goodness it's worth clicking on. I think I'd be more than happy with that rather than a blowup doll. Besides, where would you and the doll go? Over to the pissing corner? Seems kind of unromantic. I don't want to bang a blowup doll in front of 32 other men. I'd much rather fuck my hand. Far less humiliating. I'd ask for porn, and I'd ask for a portable DVD player that had porn on it. You deserve more than still photos when you're stuck in a goddamn hole.


Would you think it'd be good or bad to be one of the President's kids? I mean, on the one hand your dad's the biggest assassination target in the world, your family vacations make international news, your actions reflect upon the nation as a whole, and you can't duck the Secret Service successfully. On the other hand, though, you basically can order whatever the hell you want to eat from the White House kitchen, you get a huge-ass living space, you have instant name recognition, and you get to travel to other countries with the President if you so choose.

I think it'd probably be more good than bad.

Obviously, it depends on the child, and on the parents. The Bush twins had to endure eight years as children to an active President (one who inspired more than his fair share of vitriol from opponents), and they still seem like reasonably happy, well-adjusted human beings. It's not a guarantee that living in such an isolated bubble is an automatic ticket to self-loathing, no matter what repeated viewings of First Daughter may teach you. Chelsea Clinton was also a White House kid. But more important, her father was a philanderer and his parents' marriage was one of the strangest in recorded history. I think that probably affected her far more than not being able to kiss a boy because the Secret Service was watching. If your parents are good parents, the setting of your upbringing is almost kind of beside the point. Living at the White House, having access to virtually anything you like, and being guaranteed of a future of financial stability and incredible connections to the business and political world? Yeah, I think that would be quite acceptable. Plus, TOILETS WITH SILVER HANDLES!



My best friend's brother is a pretty big Arizona Cardinals fan. If you ask him what led him to make such a terrible life decision he'll tell you it's because the Cardinal is his favorite bird. I just can't help but think that picking your favorite sports team because their mascot is your favorite type of a specific group of animal is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. Am I being at all unreasonable here?


Well, did he make the decision when he was, like, four? Because kids do stuff like that. "Hey, Cardinals! I like cardinals! They're my favorite team now!" I guess I could see how that would happen. But if that were the case, your friend would say, "Well, I started rooting for them when I was a kid because that was my favorite bird, and it just kind of stuck." I think that would be a perfectly reasonable explanation. But if this guy made the choice when he was, like, seventeen? No. Idiotic. Lamest thing I ever heard. Who the fuck has a favorite bird anyway? Only people over 67 should have a favorite bird. I remember my Dad going batshit when I was a kid any time he spotted what he considered a cool bird.

DAD: Look, Drew! A heron!

ME: (doesn't look up from game of "Transbot") Who cares.

When I was very young, my folks bought me an NBA board game. I don't quite remember how the game worked. You could launch a little game piece at a basket and try and score. Anyway, I liked looking at all the team names and trying to figure out which one I liked best. I loved Supersonics. I thought that sounded badass. And I liked Utah Jazz, because I owned a Transformer named Jazz and so the nickname made me think of robots. Of course, Utah Jazz is now widely derided as one of the worst nicknames in sports because they aren't in New Orleans anymore and Mormons don't listen to John Coltrane. But I didn't know any of that when I was eight. All I knew was badass Transformer Jazz. This was before Jazz was portrayed in Transformer movies as a jive-talking Sambobot.


The point is that kids sometimes pick favorite teams based on odd criteria, like coolness of names and stuff like that. I think that's fine so long as you stick with it for life.

Time for your email of the week, and it's a doozy.


A few years ago I was a senior in high school and my tennis team was traveling a few hours south to Palm Desert to play in a tournament. I sucked and rarely got to play, but I took the opportunity to make the trip in order to get a week off of school and smoke copious amounts of weed. On the way down, my gambler-alcoholic-chain smoker-degenerate friend told us this was the land of Indian casinos, so on the first night the coach drove about 10 of us to some casino called Morongo Resort. As soon as we arrived, I walked to the nearest men's room and up to one of two urinals. I'm the only one in there, and about 5 seconds in I see a massive figure enter the room out of the corner of my eye. I turn slightly to see what it was and instantaneously I recognize James Worthy, who was a demi-god in my house growing up. He walks to the urinal next to me and starts his business. I realize that there is no barrier between the urinals and as I'm finishing up, I weigh the risk and possible repercussions of sneaking a peek; I came to the conclusion that I had no choice: I had to do it. I slyly pretended to have an itch on my shoulder, thus giving me an opportunity to turn my head slightly towards him. And let me tell was massive. I couldn't believe it. He made Visanthe Shiancoe look like 6-year-old Brett Favre. He and I left the restroom at around the same time and he had two smoking hot blonde girls no older than 21 waiting for him. They don't call him Big Game James for nothing.

Yes I am aware of how blatantly homosexual this story makes me look. But you know that you would have done the exact same thing.


Indeed I would have. Who knew very tall black men had big penises?