Magic, Pooetry

Bestial Bog Redux: The Poossession

My butt has been poosessed by a foul beast.
It’s back there, lurking in my rear crease.
It has been stinking up an unholy storm.
And this stinky-stink is not of the norm.
I need an excrement-exorcist, call the poo-priest!

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

Two years ago I was struck this foul blow.
Now it returns in a steamy brown glow.
This pure evil poop wants rectal revenge.
Birthing it will feel like pooping Stonehenge.
My ass is grass, and the beast is gonna mow.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

I don’t know how the daemon got in.
Some bad food I ate was a grave sin.
He’s here now and I just shat my pants.
With this doodoo-devil I am forced to dance.
Involuntarily, my crack wears a sinister grin.

Now I’m being forced to poop on command.
My undies are being instantly tanned.
I clench hard, but pootent is this curse.
It sputters out from my meat purse.
There’s no stopping these torrents of quicksand.

Abruptly a high pitched hissing of a fart. 
It steams up and rips my bedsheets apart. 
Then a blasting jetstream, a poojectile of brown. 
My violent ass needs to be tightly clamped down. 
It coats the room using the brown colourchart. 

Suddenly the poo-priest arrives in such a fluster.
Immediately uttering all the prayers he can muster.
The daemon laughs and farts right in his face.
His eyes burning, they sting as if it were mace.
Now the poo-priest looks like a brown feather duster.

But the priest has battled this doodoo-devil before.
And he was ready for those evil farting spores.
Quickly he jams a turkeybaster right up my clacker!
Filled with holy water, he yells “Satan, get back-ah!”
Next minute, I awake slumped against the toilet door.

I was saved by the poo-priest, says a note in my hand.
He’d spooritually cleansed my tainted rear gland.
He was able to banish The Tyrant of Number Two.
Back to the dimension of foul-smelling pee and poo.
But on my cheek I’ve been branded with a poopagram! 


Pure Pooetry

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