Chris Pratt landed himself a GQ cover story this month, and it’s certainly a memorable one. The highlight, though, isn’t about his work in the upcoming Jurassic World, his marriage to Anna Faris, or how he’s still holding on to that action hero physique. The highlight, boys and girls, is poop.

You see, a man like Chris Pratt is an artist, and artists are compelled to create even when in the bathroom. So, when he’s not channeling his artistry through acting, he channels it through his toilet, by taking pictures of interesting dumps and sending them to former Parks and Recreation co-star Nick “Ron Swanson” Offerman.

“Like, one time I had one that was three pieces that landed in the shape of an N—I was like, ‘Gotta send that to Nick—it’s his first initial!’ If it’s extra…the size. You know, some poops are unremarkable, and some you take pictures of and send them to Nick Offerman.”

Pratt’s not the only one who participates in this art, though. Offerman has also photographed his poop and sent it to Pratt, and fellow Parks and Rec star Adam Scott’s been in on the fun a few times too. It’s a tradition, one of deep respect and dedication.

“You know how we know we respect the poops? Because we’ll send them, not even a single square of toilet paper in the photo. We won’t desecrate the art by obscuring even a corner of it with a piece of toilet paper. Which means that we will get up and take the photo before we wipe our ass, just out of sheer respect for the piece.”

Pratt said he plans to always send Offerman a poop photo on his birthday, and as the years go by we really hope he takes it to the next level. Some nice diffused lighting, maybe a tasteful black-and-white pictorial with a medium format camera. You know, Richard Avedon stuff.

When asked for a response to Pratt’s remarks, Offerman responded flawlessly:

“Chris and I merely recognized in one another a formidable, concordant creator. Our 'pieces’ transcend bourgeois notions like 'taste,’ 'decorum,’ and 'NSFW.’ That’s plebeian stuff. He is magnificent—a lavatorial Michelangelo, and I am his Da Vinci. He proffers Rubber Soul, and I reply with Pet Sounds. The notions of 'culture,’ 'good taste,’ 'decency,’ and 'common sense’ are but flotsam to us. Jetsam, even. Our works have honesty in their fiber. His letter N, I met with a lengthy riposte: a twenty-six-inch rejoinder, to be precise, unbroken. From the backstage dressing room of an eldritch Kansas City auditorium. We are Komodo dragons, Christopher and I. We are moray eels, mated for life. Look away—back to your BuzzFeed puppies and falsettos. Ours is an ursine language, of which, if you have to ask—you’ll never know.”