Imagine a capitalist civilization with self-reporting and comfort manufacturing taken to their logical conclusions.
Sarcastic/satirical poop-status updating is used by marketing to design new advertising campaigns for laxatives, fiber drinks, toilet paper, pro-biotics, etc. The updating quickly becomes genuine as people derive a sense of connection to the products because obviously the company is listening (“no one else ever listens *sob*”).
And, business being what it is, the huge database that is the sewer system will be mined and de-anonymized for R&D purposes. An entire class of people whose job is shit mining appears, holding conventions to discuss the latest in shit-sorting hardware and shit-analysis software.
Nations compete to attract shit-mining business. Trans-atlantic pipelines are built to transport shit to the analysis factories. When they burst, the news media always uses the same tired “flushing” pun.
Somewhere, someone starts bagging their poop, demanding that the companies pay him for his data. The government raids his home, citing health and safety concerns. They find entire rooms filled with labeled-and-dated Tupperware and stacks of Fecal Patriot magazine.
Septic tanks become the new terrorism. A candidate wins an election for some small office on a platform of sanitation reform, with the slogan, “Poop with pride!”
The phrase “That’s what my poopy says!” becomes the catch-phrase for a highly-rated family sitcom. The child actress famed for delivering that line commits suicide by heroin overdose at the age of eleven. Her suicide note is never found, mostly because no one suspected the shit-stained toilet paper would have meaning outside its marketing value.