Just when you thought museums had done it all, George Frandsen decided to go where no museum curator dared to trod—straight into the mystifying land of ancient droppings. Welcome to the Poozeum, an institution in Williams, Arizona, dedicated to fossilized feces, more dignifiedly known as coprolite.

Frandsen's journey into this peculiar realm began at the tender age of 18, when he encountered a piece of coprolite in a rock and fossil shop in Utah. We all remember our first coprolite, right? For the average person, it might be a repulsive oddity. For Frandsen, it was the beginning of a lifelong devotion to fossilized dung.

Fast forward to 2014, when Frandsen initially founded the museum as an online resource center. It soon evolved into a traveling exhibition, finally landing a permanent home in Williams, where visitors can bask in the glory of approximately 8,000 pieces of prehistoric poo, the largest collection of its kind in the world.

For those wondering if there’s a fee to marvel at these natural artifacts—there isn’t. That's right, the Poozeum is free of charge, likely because fossilized feces might not be the hottest ticket in town. Still, the museum thrives on donations and the sheer magnetism of curiosity.

Some might question why anyone would leave a career in healthcare to become the world's premier coprolite curator. The answer, as many find out upon their visit, lies in the inherent fascination of the ancient world and its smelly remnants. Showcasing notable pieces such as the largest fossilized poo by a carnivorous animal—likely from a Tyrannosaurus Rex—the Poozeum has, indeed, become a cultural cornerstone for fecal philanthropists.

Frandsen, holding the world record for the largest coprolite collection since 2015 with 1,277 specimens, certainly doesn't do things by halves. He embodies the spirit of a true collector, one who views each coprolite as a historical relic that tells the tale of living beings millions of years ago.

Visitors often react with predictable laughter or mild disgust upon initially entering the Poozeum, but these reactions quickly give way to fascination as they navigate the collection. Even the most skeptical leave the museum with a new appreciation for the role excrement has played in our understanding of prehistoric ecosystems.

Frandsen's goal is to make people more interested in the prehistoric world and its wonders. And what better way to pique their interest than by showcasing the most humble and ubiquitous byproduct of life itself?

So, if you ever find yourself in Williams, Arizona, don’t just take a moment to smell the flowers—step into the Poozeum and immerse yourself in the rich, layered history of the world's largest fossilized poop collection. You’ll leave with a deeper understanding of our planet’s past, and, perhaps, a newfound respect for the ancient creatures that once ruled the earth.

Who knew that something so unglamorous could give us such a window into history? In the Poozeum, history is indeed a crappy subject, but it’s one you won’t forget any time soon.