Great idea John!!

My suggestion is the Bumper Dumper... http://bumperdumper.com/

Here's my review:

When your guts feel like a rattlesnake and you're miles from a Wal-Mart or a Cracker Barrel, shame takes a back seat to the urge to purge. This ring will serve you. Just yank it out from under the back seat, slide it into the trailer hitch (no need a hitch pin unless you're a squirmer) and sit and take care of your business.

Advice: keep feet out in front of you like you're on an elementary school swing--the ground splatter can be unsightly on your Gore-tex hikers. I sometimes holler "Weee" and lift my legs like I'm going way up high on a playground swingset at the moment of bowel release. Try it. Anyone within earshot of you is going to think you've busted out of the insane asylum, particularly if they spot you with both legs sticking straight out while levitating off the rear of your truck like magician Criss Angel, but at that very instant, who really cares? Just yell at them: "What...haven't you ever seen a magician camping out before? Now, get lost!"

Then, just use a swatch of biodegradable TP from Camper's World (always be sanitary, people. No exceptions!), stand and pull up your knickers, throw the bumper dumper back under the truck seat, and you're off. All you'll see in your rear view mirror as you drive away is a steaming pile of fresh manure with a little white hank of TP on top growing smaller like an abandoned pet. But don't sweat the small stuff: one hearty rainstorm and it'll be returned to the eco-system and come back as a bunch of fragrant daisies. Probably wind up in a glass mason jar on someone's kitchen table for Mother's Day.

Sure, instead of this bumper dumper you could just walk a few yards into the underbrush, squat down real low like Baseball Hall of Fame catcher "Pudge" Fisk, then use your heels to spread your cheeks and just let her rip. But, honestly, that's not half as fun, plus there's an overwhelming likelihood that you'll catch your Crocs in the ground spray. Collateral damage, if you will. Not too pleasant, especially if you're nervous en route to a first date with a fine lady and you need to take some pre-emptive relief in the woods down the street from her house. The Pudge Fisk method is far too risky for situations like that. Even Pudge Fisk himself wouldn't do it that way, and he's been crouching down like that since pee-wee league (You're correct, I shouldn't speak for Pudge Fisk, though. Sorry, Carlton, if I've misrepresented you as having more couth than you really do).

Here's another point. Listen to me, by staying on the road near your truck, you're considerably less likely to get eaten by a cougar. I know it's far-fetched, but people get eaten alive every single day somewhere in the world when they're relieving themselves. That's a fact taken straight out of National Geographic magazine -- the issue with that brown-skinned girl wearing a shawl with big green googly eyes on the cover, in case you want to check me on it.

I think we all have drippy, little glands back there that release musk into the air as if there's a broken aerosol can strapped to a cheek, only without the pffft sound. The musk attracts wild beasts and drives them insanely hungry. One whiff and they'd eat the lid off a garbage can! Do I know that there are glands back there for sure? No. Look, I'm just giving an educated guess on the musk glands. I'm no zookeeper or anything. I'm trying to help you, people. Work with me here!

If I touch back there with my fingers, it just feels like I have a set of weeping glands (Relax, everyone: fingers feeling through tighty whities. What do you think I am, a Neanderthal or something? Geez! Get a grip!). I think only a few select people have these glands. That could be the case.

Perhaps I'm being too honest here so I'm going to ask you to do me a big favor: reach behind there and touch yours and see if you were born with these glands and then put your fingertips up to your nose afterwards! (Sorry...that last part was totally uncalled for; I'm just giving you a hard time back, that's all). Maybe it's just me and the poor saps that got eaten in National Geographic that have these stink glands. That's certainly a possibility, I agree with you. You're probably right.

Using the bumper dumper, therefore, adds safety to your trip, especially if you have the special glands--that's what I'm calling them now: "special". That way I don't feel so bad about myself.

Plus, there's more to the "constitutional" than just "git 'er done". Sometimes it's nice to relax, grab an LL Bean sale catalog, drink some java and enjoy the morning. The bumper dumper allows you to be civil and to really pass the time outdoors. I hold my pinkie out like an English lady having tea and crumpets when I drink from my coffee cup on the bumper dumper. I probably wouldn't bother with that if I was just taking a dookie over a log.

"Can someone please pass the Grey Poupon." You'll feel like King Edward on his throne gazing down on his subjects: a squirrel, a blue jay, a couple of chipmunks, an army of ants. Are you a benevolent king (smile at the wildlife) or an oppressor (a slingshot and bag of ball bearings on the dumper)? It's your choice, really. It's a free country. If you want to sit on this thing and give concussions to small animals with polished metal balls, it's your right and although I don't agree with it (except maybe for ugly animals; they always get the short end of the stick), I'd defend your right to do it more strongly than Benedict Arnold himself! I'm just saying that's the cool thing about this dumper: it makes you feel all kingly. Is that a word? Kingly. I'm a nice king, myself (although I do squash some ants with my boot on purpose when I stand up. I think that's just human nature).

Tip: if you are using this product in an urban setting--for instance, parallel parked next to a busy sidewalk-- it's crucial to wear a rain poncho so that it hangs down below the seat and keeps you covered. Passersby will think you're just sitting on a chair, reading a newspaper and expecting rain. "I didn't know it was going to rain today," they'll say to you. Just say nothing and squint at the newspaper like you're doing a hard crossword puzzle or reading an intense obituary or something. Like a magician showing a trick twice, if they stop and talk to you, the gig will be up: they'll catch on to your unsanitary little ruse.

I do suggest, however, that you hold the poncho out to the sides at the moment of purge as any ill-timed breeze will blow the plastic cloth right under the seat. Not good. Trust me, it's a real bear when a police officer is walking past on the sidewalk, twirling his baton, and there you sit like a scared child wearing a yellow poncho with fresh dung dripping off the bottom hem. Frankly, you won't have a leg to stand on; Judge Judy is going to roast you like a luau hog.

I wouldn't make a good President because my body responds to stress by inopportune sphincter failure. I've been like this since I was a kid. And, I doubt the Secret Service would let me keep one of these under my desk in the Oval Office. Can you imagine me sitting in the Oval Office, chatting it up with some Shah or Ayatollah that has traveled half way around the globe to speak with me about something important--like nuclear warheads or famine or something-- and all I can think about is getting him out of there so I can take out my bumper dumper, slam the hitch end in a desk drawer, and take a dump into my wastepaper basket! World peace is simply going to have to wait!! I know, it's miserable being me. You're very kind, though. Hey, I appreciate your support, I truly do, but you needn't sugar coat it: I'd be a lousy President, I really would.

This device has, though, saved me embarrassment dozens of times, ranging from when I got a free meal at Julio's Taco Emporium for eating thirteen tacos in five minutes while riding a mechanical bull, to the night that I overdid it trying to impress a lady: I got my thumb stuck in a bowling ball and threw it straight up in the air where it shattered a fluorescent bulb and showered a kid's birthday party in the next lane with hot sparks! "Birthday boy" caught a Brunswick 12-pounder square on his kiddie bald spot!

In times like these, my nerves get hotter than a strike-anywhere match. I just need a quiet spot outside, away from parking lot security cameras, to become one with nature again. I become as peaceful as the ripples in a frog pond with the very first release--deep inhalations and slight pressure with interlocked fingers upon my lower abdomen, as if I don't have a care in the universe--sitting ever so comfortably off the bumper of my Toyota. That's the kind of guy I am, very serene, and I hope that comes across here. I'm not a bad person, despite having my own set of issues. Yes, you understand me. I appreciate it. You and I know the score 😉

So, I do use and recommend this item. Handymen, you could make one out of PVC pipe, or a few 2x4s, in one afternoon. But why would you when this made-in-China gem is so effective? Amazon can express ship it to your house and, in a day or two, call in sick to work. Grab a couple beefy burritos and a thermos of black coffee, drive out to a rural road and ride this baby like it's an angry rodeo calf.

Just watch out if you're one of the unlucky ones like me with those glands back there. If you are, maybe leave the driver's door open so you can scamper in and close it if you hear something hungry sneaking up on you. I'd hate to have a wolf come around the corner of my truck and catch me with my ankles handcuffed by my Fruit Of The Looms as I sit there with a frightened grin while looking like a levitating lamb Gyro. If some hapless soul buys this item upon my recommendation and winds up as bear food, I honestly can't feel too much remorse since I'm spelling it all out as clearly as I can. I'm trying here.

Bottom line: Be careful out there, my fellow stressed travelers, be safe, and be sanitary, e.g kick some dirt over your discharge if you are where others might walk, like at a flea market or something. Remember: leave no trace if others are around! Thank you.