Not doing anything. Perhaps lost in thought, pondering the taste of the macaroni salad he just ate not but a half hour ago. "Cooked elbow pasta macaroni and mayonnaise are quite a combo..." he must be thinking, unaware that the mayonnaise he so recently ingested was rancid, having been on the counter for over a week. Soon his stomach will start to churn and knot like the angry seas battling a ship's captain. He will keel over, grabbing at his gut in sweaty bouts of pain and panic. Fear will consume his brain as easily as he consumed the culprit salad. In fetal position he hugs the corner of the couch as passerby gawk and stare. His mind gurgles, "Today you die, little pachyderm, have you made the necessary arrangements? Have you told your wife and children you love them?"
A simple defecation erases those moments of desperation and agony. All is well, back to standing around doing nothing.