Grunt

Grunt, that's what they call an infantryman, but in this neck of the woods where I grew up in western North Carolina up near Tennessee, it was also an euphemism for shit, poo, poop, dodo, feces, or number two as we say to our children. We would use it when warning another not to step on dog droppings in by saying, "Watch out for grunt there."  When we had to go to the bathroom we will quite often say, "I got a go grunt." 

Now this in itself would get me in any trouble when I went to the Marines, but the fact that whenever my father would use the bathroom to grunt he would make a long loud grunt things sound, so my siblings and I assumed that it was necessary to make this sound while relieving ourselves. Each time we set down either in the outhouse or the indoor throne after it was installed we felt compelled to make the same sound our father made while he was relieving himself.

Bear in mind that until I went and the crotch I had never used a multi-toileted restroom. That changed on my first day at Parris Island, the latrine [as I learned it was called] had two rows of toilets, ten each, on each side of the latrine. So in front of, and alongside of 19 other boots I said down and cut loose with a long loud groan as I grunted. Every head snapped in my direction, with a course of, "what wrong with you?" I quickly learn that silence was preferred mode when one is relieving oneself in public.