The YouTube Abyss Where Blippi Ends and Harlem Shake Poop Begins

2013, Baby. Ready to Get Weird?

It’s 2013. Your laptop’s wheezing, screen glowing in a dark room that smells like Doritos and teenage dreams. You’re on YouTube, spiraling from a cat video to something… unhinged. A kid in a Spiderman hoodie’s jiggling in a bathroom. Then—BOOM—the bass drops, and it’s a poop-themed apocalypse. Chocolate syrup everywhere, fart noises, a plunger waved like a battle flag. This is “Harlem Shake Poop,” the gloriously gross corner of a meme that hijacked the internet. Why’d we watch? Why’d we laugh? Let’s dive into the toilet bowl of YouTube’s wildest era and find out.

The Spark That Started the Stink

February 2, 2013. A day that lives in infamy. Some dude named Filthy Frank—yep, the guy who’d later become Joji, the sad-boy crooner—uploads a 30-second clip with his pals. It’s called “Do the Harlem Shake,” set to Baauer’s EDM banger, a track with a bassline like a monster truck revving. One guy’s flopping around like a fish on land; everyone else just stands there, bored. Then, at 15 seconds, the beat drops, and it’s chaos—wigs, pool floaties, someone’s humping a couch. Pure, dumb joy.

That video was a match in a gas station. By spring, YouTube was drowning in Harlem Shake clones—100,000 of ‘em, billions of views. Schools, offices, even a submarine got in on it. It was easy: grab a phone, some weirdos, and 30 seconds of courage. But while most stuck to capes and disco moves, a few brave souls went rogue. They saw the Harlem Shake and thought, “You know what? Let’s make it nasty.” Enter the “Poop” videos, where bad taste met internet immortality.

Poop Party Central: The Gross-Out Kings

Let’s paint a picture. You’re clicking through YouTube, and you land on “Harlem Shake: Poop Explosion,” uploaded by some joker called ToiletTroll69 in March 2013. The scene’s a high school bathroom—flickering lights, tiles slick with mystery grime. A kid in a snapback’s doing a half-assed dance, all elbows and no rhythm. Three others are perched on toilet stalls, fake-scrolling phones, looking like they’re plotting a nap. Then Baauer’s bass hits, and—oh, sweet chaos—it’s a fecal free-for-all. Ketchup bottles squirt brown goo, a fog machine (swiped from the theater geeks) puffs out “fart clouds,” and someone’s swinging a rubber duck like it’s Excalibur. It’s 32 seconds of unfiltered madness, and it’s got 1.8 million views.

I remember stumbling on one of these late at night, bleary-eyed, probably eating cold pizza. I laughed—hard—then felt weird about it. Why’s this funny? ‘Cause it’s wrong. Poop’s the ultimate taboo. We all deal with it, but we don’t talk about it. These videos? They’re like, “Screw that, let’s make it a party!” The comments are a warzone: “This is my religion!” vs. “I’m calling the FBI.” That’s the magic. You either get it or you don’t, and if you get it, you’re in the club.

Why Poop? The Rebel Yell

So, why’d kids like ToiletTroll69 go there? Meet Sarah, our imaginary 17-year-old mastermind behind “Poop Explosion.” She’s in suburban Ohio, bored out of her skull, sneaking her brother’s Flipcam after curfew. Her friends are hyped, raiding the pantry for chocolate syrup and Kool-Aid mix (it’s brown-ish, close enough). They’re not trying to win Oscars; they just want their group chat to lose it. Sarah’s thinking, “Everyone’s doing Harlem Shake. We need edge.” And nothing says edge like fake poop flying in a bathroom at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday.

These videos were rebellion, pure and simple. The mainstream Harlem Shakes—cheerleaders, firefighters—were cute, but safe. The “Poop” crew? They were the punks, the class clowns, the kids who’d draw dicks on your notebook. Making a poop video was like flipping off the world. You’d spend an hour rigging props, arguing over who’d take the plunger to the face, then upload it and pray. If it hit 10K views, you were a god at school. If it tanked? Whatever, you had fun.

Psychologically, it’s a power move. Humor loves breaking rules, and poop’s the king of no-go zones. Sarah and her crew weren’t just joking—they were claiming space. The haters in the comments (“This is why we can’t have nice things”)? Just noise. The fans (“I’m deceased!”)? Your tribe. It’s YouTube’s secret sauce: even the weirdest ideas find a home.

How’d They Pull It Off?

Making a “Harlem Shake Poop” wasn’t rocket science—it was barely science. Step one: find a bathroom. School’s best—those tiles scream “authentic.” Step two: props. Dollar-store ketchup, chocolate syrup, maybe a fart-sound app if you’re fancy. Step three: the cast. One dancer (the weirder, the better) and some pals ready to fake a poop-storm. Step four: shoot it. Your iPhone 4’s shaky footage? Perfect. 2013 YouTube ate that raw vibe up.

Editing was where it got real. Sarah’s hunched over a clunky Dell, using Windows Movie Maker like it’s her job. She’s splicing in fart noises from a sketchy MP3 site, timing the “poop splatter” to the bass drop. Her friends are yelling, “Make it grosser!” It’s a mess—half the clips are blurry, the sound’s off—but that’s the charm. They upload at 1 a.m., spam it on Facebook, and wait. By morning, it’s got 500 views. By Friday, it’s a legend.

The effort’s nuts when you think about it. No one’s paying these kids. They’re risking grounding, maybe a janitor’s wrath, all for a laugh. But that’s 2013 YouTube—a playground where you could be a nobody and still make someone’s day.

YouTube’s Role: The Chaos Engine

YouTube didn’t just host these videos; it launched them. Its algorithm in 2013 was like a hyper kid with a megaphone, screaming, “Watch this!” Short, funny clips like Harlem Shake were gold—30 seconds meant you’d finish, click, share. The “Poop” videos rode that wave, popping up in “Recommended” feeds next to cleaner versions. Numbers don’t lie: top “Poop” clips hit 500K-3M views, small fry compared to the 50M-view giants but enough to make Sarah’s head explode.

Social media was the booster rocket. Twitter (fine, X, but it’s 2013!) was a frenzy of links—“Yo, check this poop one!” Reddit had “best Harlem Shake” threads, with “Poop” videos sneaking into the mix. Facebook groups shared them, from your buddy’s lame dorm clip to a German prank channel’s manure-fest. It was global chaos, and YouTube was the stage.

Copyright was a pain. Baauer’s track got flagged, pulling ad cash from some creators. The “Poop” kids? They didn’t care much—half used bootleg remixes anyway. It’s like they knew the rules but chose to dance around ‘em.

The Cultural Stink: Why It Mattered

These “Poop” videos weren’t just dumb—they were a vibe. In 2013, YouTube was raw, a place where you could upload a fart montage and get a fanbase. The “Poop” crew embodied that. They weren’t chasing brand deals or TikTok clout; they were saying, “We’re here, and we’re weird.” It’s like they graffitied the internet’s walls, and we loved ‘em for it.

Not everyone got it. Some folks—think angry moms, stuffy profs—saw these as proof kids were doomed. But that’s the deal: one person’s cringe is another’s masterpiece. The “Poop” videos were for the outsiders, the kids who’d rather make a fart joke than a resume. And they found their people. X posts in 2025 still dig ‘em up, calling ‘em “internet cave paintings.” TikTok tries remakes, but they’re too slick—nothing beats the original’s grimy soul.

The broader Harlem Shake had issues, though. The name pissed off some folks, ‘cause the real Harlem Shake is a Black dance from 1980s New York. This meme? It’s a different beast, and critics called it a rip-off. It’s messy—Filthy Frank and Baauer weren’t out to steal, but the internet’s a cultural blender. It’s worth a pause. Not everything’s a clean win.

Money, Fame, and Plungers

YouTube was a gold rush, even for the “Poop” kids. A video with 1M views could pull $1,000-$5,000 in ads—enough for Sarah to buy a new phone. The big Harlem Shakes, like DizastaMusic’s 50M-view banger, made bank, but “Poop” clips? More like pocket change. Still, money wasn’t the point. Fame was. If your video hit 10K views, you were the coolest kid in homeroom.

Brands tried to crash the party—Pepsi’s Harlem Shake ad was like your dad doing Fortnite dances. The “Poop” videos, though? Too gross for Coca-Cola. Some creators sold merch (“Poop Party” tees, anyone?), but most just basked in the glow. Filthy Frank parlayed his fame into a cult channel, then music. Sarah? She’s probably a nurse now, laughing about that one time she went viral.

The Gross Gospel: Why We Laugh

Why’s poop funny? Blame your brain. Humor’s about shock, and nothing shocks like the stuff we’re told to hide. A “Poop” video takes that and runs—suddenly, the bathroom’s a stage, and the plunger’s a mic. It’s like a kid yelling “fart” in class: wrong, but you’re laughing. For Sarah and her crew, it was power. They weren’t just joking; they were owning the room.

There’s status here, too. Making a gross video took guts. If it landed, you were a hero. If it flopped, you tried again. The comments—“Genius!” or “Trash!”—were just fuel. It’s YouTube’s heartbeat: take a swing, see who swings back.

The World Joins the Poop Party

The Harlem Shake was global, and “Poop” videos followed. A German crew did one with fake manure—very efficient. Aussies used kangaroo costumes and silly string, all cheeky vibes. Each was a nod to local humor, but the core was universal: gross is good. YouTube let a kid in Sydney trade jokes with one in Moscow, all through a 30-second clip.

The Tech That Let It Rip

YouTube’s tech was the unsung hero. Uploading was a breeze—your Nokia could handle it. By 2013, 40% of videos were mobile, perfect for bathroom shoots. The algorithm loved short, punchy clips, pushing “Poop” videos into feeds. Top ones hit millions of views, proving even the weird stuff could shine.

Copyright was a buzzkill. Baauer’s track got some videos demonetized, but the “Poop” kids dodged it—remixes, free beats, whatever worked. It’s like they laughed at the rules and kept dancing.

Where Are They Now?

By late 2013, the Harlem Shake faded. New memes—Ice Bucket Challenge, anyone?—took over. But it never died. X posts in 2025 swap “remember when” vibes, and TikTokers try remakes (too polished, ugh). The “Poop” videos? They’re in “cringe rewind” playlists, still making folks snort or gag.

The legacy’s huge. Every TikTok transition, every Reel jump-cut—it’s got Harlem Shake DNA. The “Poop” kids showed us you could be gross, bold, and loved. They’re the internet’s weird uncles, and we’re better for it.

One Last Flush

Here’s to “Harlem Shake Poop.” To Sarah, ToiletTroll69, and every kid who grabbed a ketchup bottle and dreamed. YouTube in 2013 was a circus, and they were the clowns. Hunt down a clip tonight. Smell the Lysol, hear the farts, feel the stupid, perfect joy. It’s not just a video—it’s the internet at its messiest, human-est, best.

Tags: BlippiYouTube culturesocial mediadigital nostalgiaHarlem Shakeinternet memesviral videocrude humorweb history2013online trendscontent creation