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Pooetry

Can’t Shake This Nagging Doubt

So I’m dropping a load just like I normally would…
When the last lump asks why he should.

He is just a little turd but a total bastard.
The skill of hanging is something he’s mastered.

This dangler won’t drop and I’ve been at it hours.
I’m clenching and flexing, using all of my powers.

We’ve all been here, we all know this feeling.
It’s like a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Like a punching bag but for toilet goblins.
Yet for me, it’s a time-consuming problem.

Picture Count Dumpula hanging like a sleeping bat.
Yet I’ve long since dumped all I could shat.

I don’t know if he’s using adhesive or some kind of glue…
But by now I’ll do anything to be rid of this poo!

Maybe I need a scissor or some sort of knife.
Anything to end this hangman’s life.

Or maybe a lawnmower, or a whippersnipper…
I tell ya, this idea I don’t feel chipper!

But I’m ready with the blade to sever these ties.
I’ll report later, hopefully, there are no cries!

Pure Pooetry

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