Flossing The Brown Canyon

I’m sitting here in disbelief.
The following event was not brief.

At my job, I was doing my work…
When I suffered a violent rectal twerk.

Warning! Warning! Screamed my ass!
I had a sudden situation of critical mass.

I had to rush to the nearest throne.
Would I make it on time? Answer unknown.

Frantically I looked for the closest toilet sign…
As sweat started to appear on my brow line.

In the distance, I saw it… ‘toilets this way.’
“Please help me make it” I decided to pray.

I quickly waddled somewhat like a duck.
Summoning my strength to avoid spilling muck.

Closer and closer came the door.
The pain grew stronger as did the odour.

Then success! I made it! My mad dash was complete.
I dropped my dacks and firmly planted my feet.

Kablam! Kapow! Erupted the turd!
All devastation could be easily heard.

A fellow worker came to use the other throne.
He immediately left gagging from a stench not known.

The details of consistency I shall not report…
All I’ll say is what a damn stanky dort!

I was left pale and weak so the session had to end.
It was time to say goodbye to my fecal friend.

I flushed him away… my fecal companion.
Then began to floss my dreaded brown canyon.

Pure Pooetry

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