Down South

Way down south they have a special sauce.
It can fill your undies with pooper’s remorse.
Not for the tame, it’s spicy and hot.
You may need a bucket for excess grot.
Cos there can be an overflow of incredible force.

Here we go, here’s the play-by-play…
You’ve just downed a spicy chicken gourmet.
Smothered in the sauce mentioned above.
You gulped it all down with a hungry shove.
And then followed by dessert, Alaska Bombay.

But for your crimes, you must now pay.
The sauce on your bowels, it did slay.
What does the rumbling in your gut mean?
Off like a rocket you go to the latrines.
And the porcelain receives your fecal dismay.

But it won’t stop, the blasting is intense.
You’ve filled the bowl, contents are immense.
It touches your cheeks and seeps out the sides.
Bubbling and flooding fast from your hide.
Now porcelain weakened, no structural confidence.

Cracks appear, now poopy panic is your name.
This flooding doodoo is a very dangerous game.
It’s still spitting and spatting, this horrid shatting.
The porcelain is losing a vicious caca-combatting.
Now you’re filled with nothing but sloppy shame…

Crumbling, the bowl and your ass caves in.
Yet you are still spurting out the brown sin.
You lay there sobbing, in a wet, sloppy pile.
Toilet destroyed, and stained are the tiles.
Moral of the story, the spice always wins.

Pure Pooetry

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