Thaddeus Cacker, the man known to the tabloid press as Dr Dung and formerly Britain’s leading collector of celebrity faeces, has exclusively been telling The Sleaze how he has found God. He claims to have experienced a mystical revelation whilst in Brixton Prison serving a six month sentence for stalking celebrities, including Rod Stewart, Geri Halliwell and Radio One DJ Chris Moyles, and attempting to steal their turds for his collection. “It happened when I was in the D-Wing toilet cubicle one afternoon, straining to get out a humungous turd”, he recalls. “Anyway, I thought that it would never come out – I was at that point where my head was beginning to quiver and my ears were popping – when this blinding light suddenly appeared above me in the cubicle. Next thing I knew, this angel had appeared – it had wings, a halo, the full works – and touched my arse with a flaming sword! Well, next thing I knew, there was this huge farting noise and a chocolate fountain erupted from my arse! It completely filled the bowl! The relief was incredible! From that moment onward, I knew that I had been specially chosen by God!”.

Since his release from prison, Cacker believes that he has received several more signs from above. “The day after my release, I’d just had a really good dump and was wiping my arse when, for some unknown reason, I felt compelled to look at the sheet of toilet paper in my hand. You can imagine my amazement when I realised that the face of Jesus could clearly be seen in the shit streaks!”, says Cacker, who now has this particular sheet of toilet paper framed and mounted on his living room wall. Also on display are a pair of ragged underpants – Cacker claims that the holes in their gusset form an image of John the Baptist. Occupying pride of place on the former Dr Dung’s mantelpiece is a large dog turd, which he says is shaped in the image of the Virgin Mary.

Despite these holy signs, Cacker has not yet experienced another vision similar to the Brixton Prison toilet angel, although he remains hopeful. “I’m convinced that the key to attaining union with God lies in that moment of strange rapture you experience whilst straining to bury a Quaker”, he told us. “I practice every day for at least five hours in the privacy of my own toilet, despite warnings from my doctor that I’m running the risk of incurring severe intestinal strains, ruptures and hernias. It will be worth it in order to achieve nirvana”. In the meantime, Cacker has been busy searching for further divine signs in his neighbourhood, regularly examining underwear on local washing lines in the belief that heavenly revelations might lie in the streak marks they display. However, these activities have brought him into conflict with the local police, resulting in a formal warning. Undeterred by this setback, Cacker is planning to establish his own church in order to spread the word as to the divine nature of defecation. In the long-term he hopes to obtain the lease on an abandoned underground public lavatory in Knightsbridge, but for the time being Cacker is contenting himself with performing open air baptisms in a cess pool he has dug in his back garden and filled with his own excrement.

“At first I tried doing the baptisms in the local river, under a pipe pumping out raw sewage”, he says. “However, several of my congregation fell seriously ill and their skin erupted in sores – it was then that I realised that it was specifically my shit which was holy!”. He feels vindicated by the fact that since then the worst his initiates have suffered has been mild nausea. Cacker is also experimenting with the idea of instituting his own version of the Holy Communion, with his own urine and faeces substituting for the more traditional wine and wafer. “At the moment it enters the worshippers’ mouths, it will become the blood and body of Christ”, he claims. “I know this to be true, as I’ve tried it myself – I was surprised to find that the body of Christ had a spongy sort of texture”. Cacker is also convinced of the healing powers of his own excreta. “A member of my congregation recently came to me worrying about his thinning hair – I advised him to rub some of my crap into his scalp three times a day. Luckily I had a jar of it handy”. Cacker claims that the parishioner now has a full head of hair, but few friends. The excreta evangelist is disappointed that local hospitals have refused to allow him further test his healing powers by rubbing his effluent into their patients’ wounds.

Cacker has recently been called upon to deploy his powers in order to fight evil. Police in London have recently been baffled by a series of deaths in public toilets, in each case the victim has been found dead in a locked cubicle, seated on the toilet with their underpants and trousers around their ankles. Most perplexingly, in each case the cause of death appeared to be an exploded head. “Its quite bizarre”, says a Metropolitan Police spokesman. “There are bits of brains and skull all over the inside of the cubicle, but no sign of forced entry or even violence”. Doctors have speculated that the victims’ heads may have exploded due to a build of intense pressure as they strained to pass particularly large stools.

However, Dr Dung believes otherwise. “This is clearly the Devil’s work”, he told us. “I believe that they were victims of a Satanic plot to deliver the Anti-Christ in the form of a turd. Fortunately for mankind, no anus large enough to pass such a monstrosity exists”. He claims that he has heard of several cases where people have passed demonically possessed turds, which leap out of the pan and attack them once passed. Consequently, Cacker has taken to touring London public toilets and exorcising them, despite attempts by the forces of evil to stop him. “I’ve twice been beaten up by groups of youths clearly in the pay of Satan”, he told us. He believes that the key to his eventual success might lie in the use of powerful holy talismans to fight evil. To this end, he is currently attempting to obtain turds from the Holy rectums of the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Dalai Lama.