House limps into Frankie's room and greets her with "Dd you poop?" When no response is forthcoming, he persists, inquiring about the density of Frankie's poop ("sinkers or floaters?") as well as the consistency ("greasy and soft or hard and pellet-like?"). You know, I honestly don't think I could answer that question about my own waste, although these days -- thanks to my apartment landlord's refusal to call a plumber about the massive sewage leak in our garage -- I could tell you pretty much everything about the bowel movements of my neighbors. Because I get to see them every day piled up next to my car, along with whatever else people flush down their toilets. I imagine I'll be catching hepatitis or some other unpleasant poop-borne illness sooner or later. Sorry to bog this recap down with stories about my personal life, but Frankie has inspired me to let my readers know as much about my private life as possible. Anyway, back to fictional people's problems. Frankie says she puts out soft, greasy floaters. House accuses her of being "swoft," by which he means she's a hypocrite. While she prides herself on putting her entire life on the internet for anyone to read, she holds back on one detail: her poop. And it's not like there isn't an internet readership for it, as The Poop Report has shown us. Frankie says she didn't think her readers really wanted to read about stuff like that. House says they probably don't, but her doctors do, especially since he's guessing her poop changed in the last few months. Of course, if they really wanted to know about Frankie's poop, they could have asked her about it much earlier. Frankie says her poop did change recently, but she didn't think anything of it, figuring it was a consequence of becoming vegetarian (except not really, since she ate salmon). House says that true vegetarian poop is actually small and pellet-like, like a rabbit's. Hers is the opposite because he's guessing her body isn't absorbing the nutrients it needs from her food due to Whipple's disease, which is named after the long-time toilet paper pitchman because of the disease's connection to poop issues. That's not true. Whipple's caused the malabsorption, which then caused all of Frankie's other problems. She went from dead in three days to just fine after some drugs and a heart valve replacement. Frankie and Taylor celebrate with kisses, and then Frankie says she's going to get a pig valve, because there's nothing like a near-death experience to make you want kids. Taylor brings her her laptop so she can tell her blog readers the good news.