Steve McQueen Icon of the sixties Your name is on my shirt I met your grandson, Steven McQueen With all the east coast pixies. His handshake didn't hurt. He was nice, and used to play with vampires Anne Rice is more my style She writes a tragic monster tale But hey, where is the staple of this Empire’s Usual talk about the pile Of poop, I hear you wail. Well, it came and went With hardly a bother So elsewhere was sought For poetry to be sent Like a wounded father Wallowing in his lot. I know, that was lame! You're seeking much the same As what you normally find After poop leaves my behind. Maybe tomorrow will be better The poop warm and wetter The wipe, near divine. We will see, readers of mine.
So now it’s happening
No not the fappening
Although Pat is next to me
When before, he was before me
I sat after him and nothing came
I sat next to him and it wasn’t the same
An angry little poo
A sharp and hard Doo Doo
So yeah, I pooped today
Sitting after Pat. The seat is already warm. There's a lingering stench, pretty norm Can't stop thinking about the residual heat I'd like to say it's pretty neat I can't, it's not. Furthermore, this was a sit-down gassing No poop passing Out my butt. Firing off blanks Probably I know just where my thanks Go. Supreme upper back pain Truly breathtaking in the main Debilitates me. I hate it.
On hold with Amazon
Are my pants on?
No! I’m on the pot
So they are most definitely not.
Well, they’re on my legs
Which the question begs
Why don’t they have pegs?
To hang your pants up?
Like my car has holders for my cup
Sidenote: the guy in the next stall
He’s giving it his all.
The sounds coming from his ass
Speak of troubles I’d gladly pass
Anyway, I’m no longer on hold
My business conducted, while pooping, so bold.
Also, turns out that
That guy, was Pat.
Three one day, none the next
Warning: Pooping Times May Vary
With Additional Increases, Including But
Not Limited To:
Have you ever pooped in a dream?
Have you ever pooped in a stream?
Have you ever wondered if you’d poop out steam?
No, not I, if that’s what you’re wondering.
I poop when I can and when I must
And sometimes my poop resembles a bust
of Katie Couric
Another double deuce!
Am I at war with my ass?
I’d call for a truce,
If I knew it would pass.
Punctuation is fun:
Look at me run!
But I won’t get far…
Non sequitur, tar?
Look, I’m at a loss
As to what to say
About not being the boss
Of my poop and it’s play
So just read to the end
And I promise
Your doubts I will mend
My name, is Thomas.
About 15 Oreos and a chocolate milkshake
Demanded to be released right away
I held off agreeing for my girlfriend’s sake
We slept very sound and woke to the new day
I made it work and even started writing
But it wasn’t 15 minutes later
That my lip, I started biting
And then to my poop, I had to cater
And let loose such a foulness into the bowl
I almost wretched myself
But gagging, I managed to wipe clean my hole
Like a nice and tidy elf.