Meet the bog-bloggers of Pure Pooetry!
The old and crusty wizard, wielder of the clumpy toilet brush and keeper of the spare squares. His background in immature imaginings include years of study within the porcelain fortress of fecal fortitude. Locked away for decades, his art has been fine tuned to a pointy, prickly shape. His pooetry reads like spell-casting as each syllable evokes a rich and meaty stink.
All class (and ass) Papa Poosepi is the true gentleman of the Pure Pooetry trio. The stalwart of Pure Pooetry’s team. The man with the manners. Always opening the toilet door for strangers, then kindly delivering his words of wisdom and fecally, frilly ornate prose. Papa Poosepi provides his own trumpeting soundtrack when he enters a room and his steamer quality is only matched by his penmanshit for the brown.
Centuries ago The Count was a mere mortal, making normal deposits of Pure Pooetry. His life was stolen, turned upside down, and then inverted when his bowels were cursed by his arch-enemy, Duckward Dungstealer. He was transformed into the vile beast who would rain pooetry upon innocent victims, where in his previous life he was a man of poo-peace.