����I did have a near death experience this weekend at the People's March during the Summit of the Americas at Quebec City, but it had nothing to do with riot police, tear gas, rubber bullets or pepper spray.

����I came close to death by porta-potty, eh.

����Yep, my life almost went down the crapper, so to speak.

����Whoever was organizing the bathroom facilities for the march didn't realize that there were going to be somewhere between 30 and 35,000 folks at this little get together.

����If you study this picture closely you'll note that there are a grand total of 14 little yellow roofed porta-potties in sight. Fourteen. There may have been others, but I couldn't find them.

����And there I was surrounded by 30,000 people, about 29,000 of whom got to the potties before a fierce and not to be ignored need finally drove me into one. Oh man.

����By definition the people at this march are the kind of people who give a sh*t about things. Many of them chose that day to make .:cough:. concrete proof .:cough:. of this.

����By the methane levels in the potty I had to use, many of them were the sort of folks who live on an all bean diet.

����The only thing that kept me going and got me staggering out of there was the thought of my possible descendants one day sitting around the family table looking at a cracked and faded picture of me and remarking, "Yep, that's your great-grandma Marn who was killed in a bizarre latrine accident in '01."

����Somehow, that's not quite the way I want to be remembered.