I got up early this morning.  figured I would have slept later, not going to sleep until 2:30 or something, watching Jane Russell and trying to think she was Mariska Hargitay's mom (and not really seeing it).  Thank you Google, that's Mansfield I'm looking for.
Around 9 and few, and the damn turd was still there since yesterday noonish.  Now I know that one, from yesterday, seemed to have an unnatural rigity to it upon exit (I may have had to lean over a little cheek-amaranning on the pot to let it out, don't want to smash any porcelain) but everybody always says "well, if it were up your ass you'd know!" and I thought for sure there would be trouble for old plumbing ahead.  Or, "a head" harhar.
And so there followed regular and furtive flushes at the most timely intervals provided by tank refilling, each when where "there it went!  finally!" was followed up quickly by the indefatigable slink back *up* and "remember me?!" for like half an hour.  That's when I decided it should stew in its own juices, as I couldn't find the plunger.
So the day progressed, and the rest of the Great Northern puree (eh, 1 qt+ to kill the gallon of it) got et with some bacon gravy made with some pho broth where the star anise just seemed wierd.