I'm no linguist.  I'm the son of an illiterate English teacher, which makes me three or four times removed from a linguist, depending on the studies you read, and if you don't read studies, you should already respect me as a top notch wordsmith.

My point, simply, is that "poopjam" is a word, and if the proof is in the pudding, then you're looking in some strange places for the proof.  So what of an unproductive Saturday?  Maybe I wasn't negotiating a middle eastern peace treaty, but I was playing some serious Scrabble which, unbeknownst to most, is the underlying cause for the conflict in the middle east, but that's neither here nor there, it's in the middle east.

I'm talking about Scrabble, and more important, poopjam.  I was working off the word jams, which my hackneyed, slope-browed opponent had so coyishly laid down before me. 

Poopjam is a noun, a noun of dubious proportions.  Anyone familiar with nouns realizes that they come in packs and they do it from the back; how else would they get to the pooper?  If it's a noun, there can be two of them.  You don't need to feed two like nouns a bunch of booze and have them slip around on each other to procreate. All you need is a brazen, undaunted S to stumble onto the scene.  And as it were, I had just that S, and I was the matchmaker for some sweet noun sex.

The birthing process was quick and after a minute of painful labor, I was the proud parent of POOPJAMS, a vibrant, triple letter word score that, in the words of an onlooker, "had his father's eyes." 

After birth the doctor told me that Poopjams might not make it.  I would have to see a specialist, a man named Dr. Dictionaire, which I think is French.  He knew jack about babies but a lot about words.  He was quite certain that Poopjams' mother had been drinking heavily, resulting in a preature birth.  He wouldn't make it.

I said, "But doc, I've been late to work the last few days because of the multiple poopjams on the highway."  He nodded, without a hint of sincerity, and said, "That won't do, he still won't make it."  I said, "But doc, I've had a few poopjams in my day, usually when I eat improperly, and bran flakes are the best remedy."  Still, to my chagrin, he said he was going to have to pull the plug, and so it was.  The life of Poopjams, my beautiful baby, was ripped from my clutches and erased from my score.  To this day there is no word to describe my heartache and pain, except for geggoie, which was taken away from me on my next turn.

Scrabble is a cruel, cruel game.  Poopjams and geggoie, may you rest in peaces.