Mark my words, we're short on turds. When I was in London for a theater program in college, we saw many plays at the National Theatre; one of them was Square Rounds by Tony Harrison (funny how you can remember the bad ones best). It was a play in rhymed couplets about World War One, or to be precise, about the weaponry of World War One and how England's mastery of the water closet may have made it difficult to harvest a prime component of explosives and gas--i.e. solid excrement. Yes, it was literally a play about shit.

I could not for the life of me figure out why on earth anyone would produce, perform, or attend a play about shit.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to clean up after the dog, refill the cat litter, and change some diapers before I go to bed.