Hands up if you read while you're on the toilet...
I mean, honestly, what else are you going to do? Sit there and think about politics? Have imaginary conversations in your head between Sean Connery's James Bond and Roger Moore's James Bond? Play Tetris?
No, of course you read.
For me, choosing a poop-time book is a matter of finding something that I can typically read in chunks that are either as small or as large as they need to be, which means that it can't be something too engrossing, lest it cause me to want to stay there longer than I actually need to be there. But it also needs to be a book which, if the visit turns out to be relatively quick, can be easily put aside without leaving me with the sense that I've abandoned something.
Which brings me to this:
By the way, no; I'm not back. Not really-for-real back, at least. That'll happen eventually -- and the sooner the better -- but for now, work is still demanding too much of my mental energy for me to use my downtime to do anything but mindlessly veg out. So it's been a lot of sorting digital comic books while listening to Burt Bacharach for me lately; not a bad use of time, that, but not conducive to blogging.