So I'm sure you've seen these shirts:
While generally I find the sentiment crass, I actually experienced a moment where that statement was indeed validating, vindicating and even...a personal victory.
That moment came shortly after I had my appendix removed.
The white-lab-coat-clad doctor types had prescribed me some sort of weird black pill to "loosen up my bowels" after a fairly substantial duration of going without my regular porcelain project #2. So as I took the vicodin/percocet with religious devotion, I was no less devoted to this pill.
But even so, the shirt's victorious refrain was not brought to fruition without much trial and adversity. I'll spare you the vivid details, but I will allude to another theory I have to bring the appropriate mental picture to full focus.
So I'm sure you're familiar with full moons and the effect they have on pregnant women, tides, and romance. Well, similarly I have found that some of the largest donations I have ever made to the ivory throne in the bathroom have occurred during full moons. And these are not requited in the least. They generally resemble young brown whales, often times breaching and even beaching themselves on the lip of the bowl. It seems almost impossible that such monstrosities can be expended from intestines of such a known and finite dimension. The event requires an almost birthing effort. Inexplicable. Yet it happens.
So that first victory after surgery was similar in how grand an event it was. A rather large, and generally unrelatable victory. Well, not in polite company anyway. But, you aren't polite company. Not today at least.