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Pooetry

Elbow Grease

I just blew out my sphincter.
It caused a terrible stinker.

The stench is beyond compare.
And singes my nostril hair.

The air spray has been depleted.
So I’m stuck with sewerage untreated.

But worse is the stain below.
The porcelain now brownly glows.

I quickly flush but to no avail.
The brown persists, I have failed.

The air is unbreathable and stale.
It smells like a beached whale.

Now I’m armed with the brush.
I scrub quickly, I’m in a rush.

I need to leave this stinky room.
Before it becomes my fecal doom.

So I apply a little elbow grease.
But not the kind that left my crease!

This ungodly smear won’t come out!
It remains steadfast like hardened grout!

Now I’m scrubbing in a crazed flurry.
I’ll need a priest to remove this slurry!

In a hectic slip, my grip did release.
Now up to my elbow, I’m covered in grease.

Pure Pooetry

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