Everybody poops

Yes, everyone DOES poop. however, not everyone poops with their pants up. Which brings me to my three-year-old daughter, who seems quite committed to using her pants — better yet, her underwear, as a permanent crap-sling. We have been potty training her for over a year. Already there's a flaw in the description of the task. We really are training her to crap, just nowhere in the vicinity of a toilet. So, I guess if we were actually "toilet" training, this would be going better? The frightening thing is the crazy alien goo that comes out of her.
What the hell is she eating? Preschool must house a buffet of onion burritos, mega-bran muffins and really strong coffee.
Now, in her defense, she's been making some progress. She's making it to the toilet a bit more, which is helpful, but she still lacks the common bathroom etiquette we've all grown to appreciate.
For example:
Flushing the toilet is out of the question. Dare I say, when she craps it's as though one of those guys from "Ice Road Trucker" tiptoed into the house and left a monstrous bowl-curler. It's true, she leaves poop the size of a grown man -- a member of the WWF-sized man to boot. She's also a bit preoccupied with inspecting the poop over and over again. All this, while she's still sitting on the bowl. This means that even if she's in "mid-pinch" she scoots off the toilet to inspect her handy work. This, as you might imagine, leaves the equivalent of the Hersey highway, the screaming skid mark, the dirty-dirt road on the toilet seat. Strangely, she's not wrestling with her conscience about never cleaning this abomination...
Here's another shocker -- her ass is completely uncontaminated with wiping! Yep, the TP and her butt don't seem to have made each others acquaintance. When she tries, her technique is all over the place -- she might as well be blowing her nose after she craps, at least that might dislodge some of the barnacles we have to chisel off during bath time. So, I've decided to give it more time. OK, I realize I don't have a choice, but in my wildest fantasies I imagine there's some sort of procedure, or Fisher-Price Crap Cork® I can put to good use. The real payoff is what she's gonna go through when I get old. I'm gonna live with her and her family. I can see it now -- I'm back in diapers and my eyesight is circling the drain. I'll forget all the rules of the bathroom and then I'll smile, knowing the poetry which is my revenge -- the dish best served cold -- in very leaky Depends.