Poopout In India, White Woman (Loree McBride) Is Raped

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Hindu Goddess Lakshmi with Loree McBride

I created the above image to try and reconstruct visually what I read in Brent’s email below.

Email received on July 5, 2024 from Brent Spiner:

Dearest Gail,

My eyes are still burning and watering as I type this — partly from the smell, and partly from what I have witnessed. I’ll start from where it all began.

Recently, there was a religious gathering in central India, in the village of Rati Bhanpu. Large crowds gathered to listen to a Hindu guru named Bhole Baba.

One of the attendees was none other than our very own Loree McBride. As you know, following her transformative oral sex encounter with Jesus, Loree became reformed and joined Church of Gail. Loree has been on a deep spiritual and healing journey ever since. During her time with us, she struck up a friendship with the goddess Lakshmi, which made her become curious about Hinduism. So, when Loree heard about this upcoming gathering in India, she decided to go hear what the guru had to say.

Loree McBride arrived at the gathering in traditional Indian garb, complete with a modest head covering for her blonde hair. She had freshly showered and wore deodorant. Otherwise, out of respect for the Indian people, she was adhering as closely as she could to the culture.

The Church of Gail space pod glistened with condensation from the thick yellow smog on its descent to Hathras, Uttar Pradesh. Brown bodies scattered out of its shadow like insects as the craft landed in the dust. Loree stepped outside. When she saw a group of the local Indian women gathered nearby, she approached them with an open mind, hoping to make fellowship with them.

“Namaste,” Loree said with a bow of her head.

The Indian women looked at Loree with curiosity. To white people, the darty, black eyed gaze of an Indian might look a lot like judgment, but it’s really that they rarely see white people in their own country and don’t know how to react. Some of them squinted and grabbed their noses.

“What is that smell?” One of the women asked.

“Soap,” Loree informed her.

“What is that?” Another Indian woman asked.

“It’s a substance that you rub all over your body in the shower,” Loree explained, “it comes in solid form like a bar, or as a liquid. It can be very aromatic.”

“Oh!” exclaimed one of the women, “so it’s like poop. Do you put it in your vagina too?”

“You can,” Loree replied, “but it’s not recommended unless you want a yeast infection.”

“What’s wrong with a yeast infection?” A woman asked.

“Well, it would make your vagina itch and burn, not to mention very smelly.”

“If your vagina isn’t smelly, how can your husband find it?”

Loree continued to converse with the Indian women, enlightening them about white culture and answering all of their questions. As it turned out, these women were on their way to see Bhole Baba too, so she would be able to follow them there.

Loree wasn’t the only member of Church of Gail that was attending this event. Our newest $25 Tier Patron, Chadito, was also interested in hearing Bhole Baba. He arrived in Hathras to meet our longtime friend Prometheus, who has been visiting India on a personal sabbatical.

Chadito stepped out of the space pod. Prometheus greeted him with a casual man hug, patting his butt and squeezing it a little.

“Welcome to India,” Prometheus said, “I’ve learned a lot about Indian culture since I’ve been here. Brent called me right away when you said you would be dropping by. I’m more than happy to be your cultural guide.”

“Thanks man, I’m going to need it,” Chadito replied, “it’s my first time, so I’m nervous.”

Chadito was a scrawny man, half Latino and half white, with long, thick hair like a woman. Unlike Loree, he was less prepared for what exactly to wear to India. He did not have the clear poncho or face shield that Prometheus had. Instead, he wore glasses and a regular t-shirt with a tacky logo on the front.

“Come,” Prometheus said, “the event is almost about to begin. Here, take this.”

He held out his hand and heterosexually offered his pinky to Chadito, who accepted it with his own. Holding pinkies so that nobody would think they were gay, the two men navigated through the crowd, with Prometheus leading the way.

Chadito’s eyes gazed all around him, taking in the third world wonderland.

The air was thick and golden yellow. Billows of sand carried the smell of urine, decay and fecal matter into their lungs. Wafts of heavy perfume, burning incense and warm spices added a touch of exotic luxury to the rich aromas. Lanky brown bodies scurried all around them in a massive swarm. Chadito hugged himself, feeling a little claustrophobic as Indians pushed past them on all sides. He squeezed tighter on Prometheus’s pinky for security.

“There’s so many of them, how can they even see?”

“Well,” Prometheus explained, matter of fact, “scientists have determined that Indians coordinate their individual and communal behaviors using a complex pheromone signaling system. Indians release a special odor wherever they go, which helps them track where they have been, and find other Indians. It even helps them locate a female Indian’s vagina when it’s time to reproduce.”

“Wow,” Chadito said, “kind of like ants, or rats. That makes sense.”

“Yes. It’s very important for them to maintain their scent trails. Otherwise, they could get lost and confused.”

“I see,” Chadito said, soaking in the education.

“Chadito, let me break the 4th wall here for a minute,” Prometheus put a hand on his shoulder, “all jokes aside, what I’m about to show you is, without any exaggeration, exactly what India is like.”

Prometheus waved one hand, and the words, ‘THIS IS WHAT INDIA IS ACTUALLY LIKE*’ appeared at the bottom of Chadito’s vision, as if they were suspended in thin air.

“Woah! How did you do that? Are you using some kind of hologram technology from Church of Gail?”

“Something like that. I’ll just leave this here while we walk around.”

“What is the asterisk at the end for?”

“I included an asterisk because unless you have been to India yourself, your mind cannot comprehend what it’s truly like. The day to day, normal activity in this society defies and challenges all human imagination, on a universal scale. Everything I’m about to show you here is real, and you can verify it yourself by looking it up. But you won’t believe me or have a calibrated sense of how accurate this is unless you have actually been to India before. Describing it requires no hyperbole or exaggeration, and anything you think is too intense or unimaginable, is really only scratching the surface of what actually goes on in India.”

“Well, I’m here now, and I’m ready to learn. Let’s go!”

The two men continued on. Lining the overcrowded streets were vendors, merchants and shops of all shapes and sizes. Unwashed Indians prepared dishes of food using their feet, hands, and fingers, hastily serving the finished products to passing customers before washing their hands in a mix of lemon water and cow urine before starting the next batches.

Chadito, distracted by the authentic food prep, stumbled and almost tripped over something on the ground. To his culture-shock, he looked down to see a dead body lying in the streets. Going by the color of the flesh and the presence of maggots, he was almost surprised he didn’t smell it first. Of course, the aroma of India itself heavily masked the scent. He was about to cry out in alarm, but before he could say anything, Prometheus waved a hand.

“Don’t worry about it, they’ll come get it eventually,” he said.

“Huh? Who will come get it?!”

Prometheus approached a vendor’s tent. There was a skinny Indian man kneading dough on the ground with his ashy feet. Another Indian man approached, returning with a bucket full of toilet water, collected from the nearest bathroom, to add to the metal cooking pot next to the dough. He poured the wet, poop splashed bucket into the pot, grabbed some vegetables to toss into the broth, then stirred it with his stained hands.

“Mmm!” Prometheus salivated, “you know, Indian food is an acquired taste, but I’ve taken quite a liking to it since I’ve been here.”


Chadito jumped as he nearly got trampled by some type of animal, closely followed by a group of Indians. He turned to look. The animal was an emaciated cow, covered in flies. It stopped and swished its tail rapidly, before releasing a flood of urine and a few mounds of feces from its rear.

Like a clucking coup of chickens, the Indians ooga’d and booga’d in excitement, fighting each other for access to the cow’s emptying orifices. The Indians grabbed handfuls of the cow’s falling urine to wash their hair and their faces, before taking the poop and rubbing it on their skin.

“One pani puri, please,” Prometheus asked from the vendor.

“Yes ser,” the Indian nodded with emphasis.


Chadito screamed as a blast of fire erupted next to the vendor’s tent.

A pile of poop encrusted bodies, stacked on the ground, were now burning in flames beneath the scorching India heat.

“WHAT? What are they DOING?!” He exclaimed.

“Oh!” Prometheus said, brightening with eager excitement, “this ritual is a very spiritual practice in Indian culture. They collect the members of their population that fall dead in the streets, then burn them all together in a pile, wherever they can find space in public to do so.”

“What about cemeteries?! They don’t give them a private burial or funeral?” Chadito asked.

“Chadito,” Prometheus gently chided, wagging his finger, “watch your colonial normative language. Of course not. This is simply how this part of the world honors their dead.”

“But…what about diseases? What about preserving the dignity of the dead? This is fucked up even for me, and my people carry dead babies full of cocaine across the Mexican border.”

Prometheus cleared his throat, “excuse you, Chadito.”

Chadito gulped, “you’re right…I’m here to broaden my cultural horizons, so I’ll try to be more open minded.”

“Good. Now, do you want anything from the vendor?”

“Uhh…no thanks, I had a big breakfast this morning,” Chadito replied, watching the bodies burn.

Prometheus pulled out his wallet. All of a sudden, a small child came running up to him, yanking on his pant leg.

“Uncle! Uncle!” The Indian child begged.

Chadito gasped.

The child in question had only one arm, one eye, and half of his face was badly disfigured and covered in scars.

“Here you go, little rasgulla,” Prometheus responded, handing the child a few rupees. The child ran off in a haste.

“Wow, poor guy. I wonder how all of that happened to him at such a young age?”

“Ah! That was his mother or father that did that,” Prometheus informed.

“Huh? They chopped up their kid?!”

“Why yes. You see, children play a very important role in an Indian family. In the upper castes, children usually become doctors so they can move to the United States to make money and send it back home to their parents in India. The ones that aren’t smart enough usually get married off to other relatives. As for the lower caste, well, the best way for children to earn money for their parents is to beg in the streets.

The most successful beggar children are the disabled ones. So, having a disabled child is very desirable in this culture. However, even though many Indian children are born with extra limbs, grotesque mutations, and rare diseases not seen anywhere else in the world, a lot of them are born perfectly normal, other than being Indian. So, in this culture, the parents will deliberately disable their children by cutting off limbs, blinding them, or mangling their faces.”

“I see…” Chadito replied, “I’m sorry if this sounds ignorant, but should we really be encouraging this sort of thing?”

“Now, now Chadito. I see your white side is showing,” Prometheus chided, “but it may comfort you to know that giving them money is the best way to keep these children intact. If that little boy didn’t make any rupees today, his parents would have to chop off his other arm in an effort to increase profits. If he still didn’t make enough rupees, they would move on to one of his legs. After that, they would take his other leg, and so on. In the end, he would just be a little half-blind torso begging in the streets, and barely look human shaped anymore.”

The men watched as the little boy ran up to his mother, tugging on her sleeve to show her the fresh rupees. His mother, who was also begging in the streets, held a silent infant in her arms.

“It’s amazing that baby can sleep so peacefully among all this noise, and in this heat,” Chadito observed.

“That’s because the baby is drugged,” Prometheus explained, “it’s helping its mother beg. Indian infants are VERY good at making money for their mothers, but, they need to stay sedated so their mother can work the streets. It’s also possible that it’s already dead, and the mother is holding on to it for as long as she can until its usability as a prop expires.”

“Interesting…” said Chadito. He paused for a moment in thought, “you know, this place is a lot like Disneyland, but with human despair instead of happiness.”

Prometheus chuckled with delight, “You have NO idea! Trust me, there is no other place on Earth like India.”

He offered his pinky back to Chadito, and the two headed onward. Prometheus crunched into his pan puri as they walked.

All of a sudden, Chadito’s stomach began to churn. Before he realized it or could stop it, vomit came up from his throat and out of his nostrils. He gagged and started coughing it up.

“What…what is THAT smell?” he managed to ask through his gasping.

“That?” Prometheus replied, “that means there’s a bathroom nearby.”

“A bathroom? But I don’t see any nearby…”

“They’re about twenty yards from here, if you need one. Just follow that smell. Those are mostly for special guests. If you’re feeling especially ethnic, you could poop in the street like a local.”

“I think I’ll hold it,” Chadito replied, before immediately projectile vomiting. He heaved over and put his hands on his knees, emptying the final contents of his stomach onto the dusty ground in a puddle beneath him.

Sensing the moisture, a naked Indian man rushed over to the puddle beneath Chadito, scooping up handfuls of the liquid and splashing his head with it to cool his face and wash his hair. He rubbed it generously into his dirty skin, cleansing himself, before taking one final scoop and quenching his thirst with it, then walking away.

Prometheus’s eyes sparkled with tears at the sight. He put his hand on Chadito’s shoulder, “you have been blessed, my friend.”

“Wow…” Chadito said, hardly able to grasp the magnitude of the deeply cultural interaction that had just taken place, “I’m honored.”

Prometheus wicked away a tear, envy in his heart.

“The event should be starting now. Let’s make sure we get a good view.”

The two men finally made their way to the gathering area where they could see the local guru. Bhole Baba appeared in the staging area, his presence harkened by the ooga-booga of dirt and feces soaked Indians. Although Prometheus and Chadito could not remember all of the words said in this hour long speaking event, they recounted that they were very moved by the guru’s teachings and philosophies. He was a wise man, with many helpful lessons to impart.

As the guru exited the stage, the two were left in awe.

“Wow…I’m really glad I came,” Chadito admitted, “that guru gave me a lot to think about.”

“Good! I’m glad you’re falling in love with India.”

“You know, I think I’m finally getting hungry. I could go for a hamburger right about now.”

All of a sudden, like the thunderous clap of a blackening storm cloud, a wave of silence fell over the crowd. Every Indian in the vicinity turned to look at Chadito, their black eyes glaring.

“Is…is it something I said?” Chadito asked.

“Ummm…” Prometheus said, leaning in to explain, “cows are considered sacred animals in India. They don’t eat beef here.”

“Sacred animals?” Chadito inquired, “but they don’t even take care of them here. The cows are all starving and full of parasites. They wander the streets like feral dogs, pooping everywhere, while Indians literally wait nearby to drink their urine. You’d think they would keep them behind clean fences with nice green grass and-“

“Chadito…” Prometheus murmured in warning.

“Ugh, sorry…” Chadito facepalmed with his fist, “I’m so insensitive.”

Anger loomed behind the eyes of the Indians that surrounded them. One by one, they began to ooga-booga.

“What’s happening?” Chadito asked nervously.

Prometheus donned his poncho and face shield.

“Get ready to run,” he said.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s…a Poopout.”

As if on cue, a wad of poop went sailing in Chadito and Prometheus’s direction. It was like a match to a puddle of gasoline, only poop. The crowd of Indians roared into a whooping frenzy, imploding in on itself in waves of violence, rape, and poop.

“RUUUUUN!” Chadito shouted.

The two men made a run for it as fast as they could, parting their way blindly through the sea of bodies.

Prometheus tapped on his watch, pinging my communicator.


I gasped upon hearing the message.

“Oh no!” I replied, “get out of there as fast as you can. Is everyone else with you?”

“Chadito is right behind me! We’re holding pinkies so it’s not gay and we won’t get lost.”

“What about Loree? She told us she would be attending.”

“Oh no, you’re RIGHT! We have to find her!”

“Yes, find her and make sure all three of you get to safety. We can’t get an accurate lock on you guys in the middle of all those Indians, especially during a Class 4 Poopout. Once you can get away from the hive, we can safely beam you out.”

“We’re on it, Brent.”

Bravely, the two men turned back into the brown storm. They couldn’t leave Loree behind. Luckily, in the chaos, the Indians were now pooping out so hard and throwing so much poop, they barely noticed Chadito and Prometheus in particular.

Prometheus pulled out two cans of Lysol, and tossed one to Chadito.

“Here, this should help.”

Chadito knew exactly where this was going. Recalling his newfound education about Indian people, he pressed down on the button and let out a spray. The Indians in their path came to an unsteady halt, and began to scatter away in all directions, avoiding the Lysol’d areas.

“I get it,” Chadito said, “the Lysol disrupts the Indian pheremone trails. Without it, there’s no path for them to follow, so they get confused and wander off somewhere else.”

“Now you’re thinking!” Prometheus praised.

The two men high fived, and began spraying their way through the crowd.

Meanwhile, Loree McBride was on the other side of the wall of Indians, trying to navigate through the raging Poopout. She gripped her head covering closely around her for protection, bumping through Indians like a crowded pinball game.


Flying poop collided with Loree’s head covering. Grossed out, she modestly pulled the dirtied head covering off, and decided to go without.

That was a big mistake.

The sight of a blonde white woman was enough to make every Indian head turn. The winds of the storm were changing. Loree looked all around her at the beady black eyes now glittering at her with depraved perversion.

An Indian man standing close to Loree gave her a sniff, trying to find her vagina. The smell of fresh soap, deodorant and laundry detergent hijacked its way through his pheremone system. He began glitching out. Stunned and twitching, he started shambling off in another direction.

Another Indian man approached Loree.

“Hi dear can you open up your cloth?”

“Excuse me?” Loree asked, grasping her Indian garb tightly around her.

Yet another Indian came up beside her.

“You are so butifull, show me your vegana.”

“My what?”

“Hello bitch lasagna,” said another Indian man.

Loree was growing very frightened. As a former Jesuit, she was well accustomed to rape. In fact, she rather liked rape. But the way these Indian men approached her was very different…the standard way Indian men propositioned women was far more disgusting than anything the Jesuits would ever do.

As each Indian approached her, the smell of her clean clothes and freshly washed body tampered with their pheremone system. One by one, the Indian men approaching her for rape each began glitching out. Like ants, the confused and lost Indians began moving in a spiral pattern around Loree. They knew there was a vagina present, a white one at that, but their navigation system couldn’t seem to find it.

Prometheus and Chadito soon noticed the horny Indian vortex ahead of them.

“Look Chadito,” Prometheus said, “something over there is causing all the Indians to glitch out. They’re forming a death spiral!”

“A death spiral?”

“Yeah, just like ants. When the pheremone system in a swarm of Indians becomes completely disrupted, they will spiral endlessly in an infinite circle, until they begin to exhaust themselves to death. They will then begin throwing all of their dead into a center pile, and will continue to spiral around it as the pile builds.”

One of the befuddled Indian men slammed into an Indian woman in the crowd. On reflex, he immediately began raping her.

More and more of the Indian men began colliding with the Indian women in the circle, and they all started to rape.

“Oh no, I hope whatever is glitching out these Indians isn’t causing them to…OH NO!”

“What, what is it?” Chadito asked.

Prometheus gulped.

“You know the term “fight or flight”?


“Well…when Indians get spooked, their neurological response is…”

A rumble began. All of the Indians ooga-booga’d ominously as they grew more agitated. The rapings continued, and ramped up in intensity.


Chadito screamed.


The vortex of confused, horny Indians spiraled out of control, building to hurricane intensity. Then, like animals, they all began trampling each other in the fray.

As Indians died, from stomping or rape, they all began getting tossed into the center of the death spiral, which is exactly where Loree McBride was. Trapped, all Loree could do was dodge and jump, and attempt to shield herself using her garb.

A raped Indian woman got tossed toward the pile, sailing right toward Loree. In that moment, time seemed to lag, as if in slow motion. The Indian woman flew past her, followed by a wad of poop. Loree opened her mouth to let out a scream. That was when the poop collided with Loree, and hit her right in the vagina.

The crowd exploded.

Now that the Indian men could locate Loree’s vagina, it was on.

“MILK TRUCK HAS ARRIVE!” Shouted an Indian man, throwing himself onto Loree.

Loree McBride screamed.

All of the Indians in the swarm began running a train on Loree, raping her one by one. Each Indian would rape her until exhaustion, then fall dead, before being pushed into the death pile as another Indian took its place.

“It’s Loree!” Chadito shouted, “that’s what’s triggered all the Indians to rape and stampede!”

“That makes sense,” Prometheus determined, “Indian men are highly attracted to white women, despite the lack of poop in their vaginas.”

“But isn’t that bestiality?!” Chadito asked.

“For a white person, yes,” clarified Prometheus, “but Indians actually think they’re people.”

“That’s insane. We have to go help her!”

The men shook their Lysol cans, and began spraying their way through the dangerous rape and stampede vortex to get to Loree.

An Indian man pounced onto Prometheus like a rabid jungle monkey, hissing and drooling in an attempt to rape. Prometheus took his Lysol can and sprayed the Indian directly in the mouth, causing him to gag and fall to the ground.

Upon reaching the eye of the death spiral, Chadito leapt bravely into the center, grabbing Loree by the hand.

“I’ve got you Loree!”

Chadito pulled, but it was no use. It was a tug of war with hundreds of Indians. He shook the Lysol can.

“HEY!” He yelled, “the 1950s called. They want their douches back!”

He promptly and heroically unloaded a cold blast of Lysol directly onto Loree’s vagina. The Indians ooga-booga’d loudly in disgust, then became disoriented, scrambling into each other and ping ponging around in confusion before wandering back off into the death spiral.

Loree collapsed onto the ground, unconscious. Chadito picked her up, fleeing the scene. He ran to catch up with Prometheus, who was still madly spraying the Indians away. The group fled the Poopout and made their escape all the way back to the space pods.

The space pods were so contaminated from sitting in India, we decided to abandon them and simply beam everyone back up to Church of Gail.

Once onboard, Loree was rushed to the emergency room in our sickbay. Chadito and Prometheus were treated for minor injuries, and were subject to decontamination with our infectious disease control team. The two were then able to give me a fully detailed account of everything that had happened.

I decided that the most ethical course of action would be to beam up all of the raped and injured Indians, mostly women, onto Church of Gail in order to administer critical medical care. An unfortunate side effect of our humanitarian efforts is that a large section of Church of Gail became a biohazard zone, and had to be thoroughly decontaminated. As I’m writing to you now, the quarantine on the areas in and around the medical deck has been lifted, and survivors have been safely beamed back home to India. Chadito, Prometheus and Loree McBride are all receiving psychological counseling with Gerard Butler. They appear to be suffering from PTSD.

Once again, the day was saved by Church of Gail. I want to say thank you again to our newest $25 Patron member, Chadito. He experienced literal hell on Earth on his first impromptu mission. My friend, I apologize that it will likely take weeks for you to get the smell of India out of your pores. Just imagine, Indians can never get that smell out of their pores, even when they leave India. I never thought I could sincerely say this to a person, but be thankful you were born a Mexican.

As for me, I am of course safe, and right beside my beautiful wife once again. In bed and in our shared apartment together is where I most like to be.

Your husband,
Brent Spiner

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