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Pooetry

Conceded Defeat

There was a thunderous explosion from my rear. Indicating to me that a deuce was near.

So I made my way to the throne. Dropping gas as I walked… making it known.

With each single step my bowels grew tight. And my taint grew in fear from a terrible shite.

I dropped my dacks and planted my cheeks. On a very cold porcelain seat.

Then there blew a gale-force wind. And on my face came a silly grin.

The deuce did start by slowly peeking, and in anticipation the throne began creaking.

With a shotgun blast the deuce was air born. Flying through the air leaving my taint hot like peppercorn.

My meaty chudd then landed with a mighty crash. Causing a massive disaster… a monsoonal splash.

Nothing was sparred not my cheeks or taint. This deuce took no prisoners without any constraint.

So then it was time to clean the mess. The thought of the effort needed made me stress.

But to my surprise a clean-up wasn’t needed. This monstrous turd defeat it conceded.

Pure Pooetry

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