No matter how much technology changes or how far we come as a civilized culture, one thing never seems to change: people loooooove poop and fart jokes.
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People have been a-singin' rump songs and a-tellin' rump jokes for years.
(From Rump, 1662)
For the last few years, I've run a blog called Some Old Jokes where I share jokes that were published in joke books printed before 1950. One thing I have learned is that while we often think of people from older generations being primmer, more proper, and more stuck up, human beings have always loved bathroom humor. They've loved it as long as there have been things resembling bathrooms (and maybe even before that). Sure, there were times when society cleaned itself up in print, like the boring Victorian era when the joke books consisted of plaster-dull bon mots. But as any human being knows, there is always more poop, and there are always more poop jokes.
The 1700s, in particular, were a great time for bawdy jokes of all sorts — sex, bodily fluids, and drunkenness all got their fair share of page time. I won't tell you that these jokes have the same witty construction of modern jokes. But if you like the idea of fancy, elevated, old-timey language used to discuss turds, then I have some jokes for you.
1. Why you shouldn't claim ownership of someone else's butt.
From Ornatissimus Joculator: Or, The Compleat Jester, 1703.
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187. A Man chiding his Wife told her, that she could call nothing hers but her Ring, Fillet and Hair-lace, nay, her very Breech was none of hers. Which the good and harmless Woman understanding one Night, let something drop into the Bed, which he having found out by the smell, ask'd her what was the Cause of her so doing: She told him, that whilst she thought her Breech hers, she had command over it; but being his, she could not rule another Body's Arse.
TL;DR: A husband says he owns his wife's butt, so she shits in their bed and says she's not responsible because she doesn't own her ass.
2. Farting can be really confusing.
From The Jester's Magazine, 1767.
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A Lady, being at a Wedding, and overstraining herself a little, let a great Fart; at which she blush'd so much, and was in such Confusion, that she was forced to quit the Chamber, nor could any one persuade her to come in again : But happening to leave her Gloves in a Chair, near a Gentleman that sat by her, she bid one of the Maids fetch them away, but the Maid excused herself, as did the other also. At last she goes in herself, without taking Notice of any Person, but the Gentleman, to whom she said, "Did you see, Sir?" and then stopt. "Did I see what, Madam?" said the Gentleman. "Why," continu'd she, forgetting her Gloves, "did ye see, Sir? did ye see my Fart?" At which the whole Company burst out in a Laughter, and with much a-do persuaded her to stay, and end their Mirth together.
TL;DR: A woman farted at a wedding and was so embarrassed that she left and refused to come back, but she also left her gloves in there. When she went back for her gloves, she was still thinking about farting, and instead of asking "Hey, did you see my gloves?" asked "Hey, did you see my fart?"
3. It's great for the complexion.
Before you read this, know that "Sir-reverence" means "feces." From Ornatissimus Joculator: Or, The Compleat Jester, 1703.
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An arch Rogue hearing a Woman cry Kitchin-stuff ask'd her what it was? That which drops from Flesh, says she. Say you so, says he, call to Morrow and I'll help you to some. The next Morning, she came, and he had prepar'd a Pot half full of Sir-reverence; the Woman put her Arm into the Pot, and drawing it out, perceiv'd the Abuse, and began to be Angry : Nay, nay, says he, don't be angry, for this is that which drops from Flesh. Is very true, said she, and now your Flesh appears to me very dry, (stroaking his Face with her Hand) and wants a little Greasing, and stands in need of Basting too. Which she accordingly gave him.
TL;DR: A woman needs some cooking fat for her kitchen, and a big jerk offers to help her by bringing some over. But instead, he brings over a pot of poop, which the woman realizes when she sticks her hands in it. As revenge, she tells the guy that his face needs some greasing, and she rubs poop on it.
4. This is why there are coat hooks in bathroom stalls.
From Cambridge Jests: Or, Witty Alarums for Melancholy Spirits by a Lover of Ha, Ha, He, 1721.
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A Welchman shiting from a Bridge, Good shit, by Davy, said he, what a Devil no plump? for he expected to hear his excrement fall in the water, but all the while shit in his Coat-pocket.
TL;DR: A man shits off a bridge and is surprised when he doesn't hear it plop. It's because he accidentally shit in his coat pocket.
5. The couple that shits together, stays together.
From Ornatissimus Joculator: Or, The Compleat Jester, 1703.
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John Cross and Joan Cross used to lead Hands to shit together, and being one Day hard at it, something fell from Joan with an unusual Noise; Quoth John, Do you piss Love; No, reply'd Joan, I shit Honey.
TL;DR: A husband and wife go to shit together, but Joan's poop sounds weird. John asks, "Did you pee, love?" She says, "No, I shit, honey." (Like she's calling him honey, but she is also jokingly saying she shits honey, so it doesn't make much noise...get it? LOL THE 1700s WERE SO FUNNY.)
Bonus: Humorous turd poem!
From The Wit's Magazine; Or, Library of Momus, 1784.
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The Tale of a Turd
A Pastry-cook once moulded up a turd,
(You may believe me when I give my word)
With nice ingredients of the fragrant kind,
And sugar of the best, right double refin'd.
QUite to annihilate it's taste and scent.
Without-stretch'd arms he twirls the rolling-pin,
And spreads the yielding ordure smooth and thin:
'Twas not to save his flour, but shew his art,
From such foul dough to make a savory tart.
He heats his oven with car, and bakes it well;
But still the crust's offensive to the smell.
The cook was vex'd to see himself so foil'd;
So works it to a dumplin, which he boil'd;
Now out it comes; and, if it stunk before,
It stinks full twenty times as much, or more.
He breaks fresh eggs, converts it into batter,
Works them with spoon, about a wooden platter,
To true consistence; such as cook-maids make
At Shrovetide, when they toss the pliant cake.
In vain he twirls the pan; the more it fries,
The more nauseous, fetid vapours rise.
Resolv'd to make it still a savory bit,
He takes the pancake, rolls it round a spit,
Winds up the jack, and sets it to the fire;
But roasting rais'd its poisonous fumes the higher.
Offended much, (altho' it was his own)
At length he throws it where it should be thrown;
And, in a passion, storming loud, he cry'd--
'If neither bak'd, nor boil'd, nor roast, nor fry'd'
Can your offensive hellish taint reclaim,
Go to the filthy jakes from whence you came'
TL;DR: Don't cook with poop.
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"I'm smiling because the photographer signed a contract that says I own this image!"
Good thing she can fight, because shots have been fired.(via 
A strange, mystical land of tolerance. (via Pacific Biodiversity Information Forum)
