Dated 1-August-2001
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I’m sitting here upon the bowl,
And feeling crap pushed from my hole,
I’m writing verse that seems quite droll,
While sitting on the can.

A stink comes forth from porc’line throne,
I dread to think it as my own,
I’m truly sickened to the bone,
While sitting on the can.

One last hard push, and I am though,
Finally done expelling poo.
I’ve paper work just left to do.
While sitting on the can.

Just a flush left in the going,
oh God, no, it’s over flowing,
Where’s the plunger, I’m not knowing.
While sitting on the can.

Grab the mop and start a swishing,
Really gross stuff starts a squishing,
Ate more fiber, I’m a wishing.
While sitting on the can.