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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.