Engels didn’t mind reflecting on the great pleasure of taking a crap:
Now I can shit in peace and then write to you in peace … Damn, there’s somebody sitting in the lavatory and I am bursting’ (MECW, vol 2, p. 411).
In the end he realised his (occasionally good) efforts at poetry would go the same way:
I doubt very much if my poems will have a big sale; more likely they’ll have a stinking one, since they are going for waste paper and bumf (MECW, vol. 2, p. 427).
At least they would have good company, joining none other than the Prussian king, Friedrich Wilhelm III:
I hate him, and besides him I hate only perhaps two or three others; I hate him with a mortal hatred, and if I didn’t so despise him, the shit, I would hate him still more’ (MECW, vol. 2, p. 493)