Hump day shites

On the last day of May

Selling couches bites

I just have to say.


Relevancy, you ask?

None to be true

But it’s a worrying task

And I thought I’d share it with you.


In the meantime

This poop, it burns

Spicy nachos are prime

But in the gut it churns.


Pickled jalapeños, we’ve been here before.

But I can’t help myself, I always gorge.

But I had also Mac and cheese, and more,

Leading to this, but hey, onward we must forge.


And that’s about it

For this hump day shit.


Log a Rhythm

Wow, what a log
I felt it stirring late last night
But I resisted the urge, to head to the bog
And slept instead, all warm and tight

   Beneath the covers.

It hurt coming out
A little too long, I had to squat stand a bit
A turd very thick, most stout
Once out, I returned to sit

    And thought about ladies and their hovers.

And now, time to clean
No dirt stars for me, just a pink butthole
Even if it remains unseen
Cause you won't find me, naked on a slut pole

     Ass out for the stripper lovers.

Boss Stall

My boss is in the next stall

Unloading in quantities that make mine small

I’m wondering what he ate

What combination of foods did he heap on his plate?

Truly it sounded, like the king of shits

I’ve had those before, some of my greatest hits.

And then enters the guy who blows his nose

Loud as a trumpet, and just goes and goes

His nose has to hold a huge amount of debris

A most smelly and loud moment in the toilet of which I was free.

Will I finish before my boss and escape without notice?

Let me wipe and try better than the POTUS.

Number 1 the second

With 101 done
It's time for a new number 1
Of poetic musings on taking a number 2.
This second edition, of the poetry of poo
Is ready to rock out—

I’m sorry, I’ve got to interject here that while I’m sitting in the loo, composing this poem and taking a poo, a lady poked her head in and asked, “Is anyone in here?” To which I replied, “Yes…” “Oh,” she said with unwarranted surprise (this is the men’s room after all). “Can you flush when you’re done?” She further inquired. “I always do,” I answered back testily. Seriously, what the actual fuck?? Anyway back to important shit:

And flourish and flout,
The thinking and feeling of pooping each day.
And pumping that out and sending it your way.
So that we can all rejoice in the pleasure of a good dump
And the words that flow from my giant brown lump
Poo Poetry, Take Two
From me, to you.

Poo 101

This is it

The final shit

I can’t believe

As the poo will leave

That I will have written

101 Poo Poems of which I am smitten


And I will say don’t be sad

That this volume is done

For there are more poops to be had

With more poems of fun.


It was truly a pleasure

To pen all these rhymes

With which to measure

My pooping times.


Daily I fought

To try and be clever

With words that were sought

To highlight my endeavor.


So I hope you’ve enjoyed

All that I’ve done

While pooping while employed

To make something fun.





Did I wait to late??

This poop won’t come!

Is it something I ate?

Oh no! I’m pissing out my bum.

Terrible gut, wracked nerves?

Even though it’s pissing

Blockage too?! This serves

To remind me of what’s missing:

My sanity.


I’m seriously worried

How can this be?

Is the first one hurried

What is wrong with me??


Two little poops

On my second poop today

It’s like a giant oops

That’s happening every day!


I cannot become a two poop pooper

I have to expel all in one sitting

My mind collapsing, is no trooper

I should poop only once! As is fitting.