In the land of the blind, one-eyed man is king.
But in the bowl, only the brown eye will sing.
So after an evening of culinary excess…
I have something sickly to confess.
I awoke to a tingle in the nose.
From the bed a foul scent arose.
My wife had a sour look on her face.
And I was filled with such disgrace.
According to her, she’d slept not a wink.
All night I’d been exhausting the stink.
Non-stop farts had filled the room.
Impossible to sleep with fecal fumes.
What was the cause? What was the reason?
Below grew a rumble of turdly-treason.
In my guts waged a rectal war, fecal feudal.
Time had passed to extrude this noodle.
I threw off the sheets, allowing air to escape.
A warmth flew out that smelled of an ape.
Chased by angry yells I fled to the lavvy.
And my belly full of brown, I did carry.
The heavy load was pain upon my legs.
But I made it and readied to drop the dregs.
This one called for an air-drop, no sitting.
For the two next hours, I spewed the shitting.
The noodle oozed and sluggishly poured forth.
Its weight ensured it went opposite of north.
Still standing, I grew tired of the endless seeping.
Forever my brown eye was sadly weeping.
For hours, it curled into the bowl making a whippy.
Enough! I broke it off with the clench o’snippy!