Mission: Impoossible

The constipation conspiracy was politically intense.
A backlog of secrets, lies and poo so immense.

I was deep in foreign lands, surrounded by evil.
But I’d armed myself with my pants weapon so gleeful.

Sweat upon my brow as I scaled the impregnable fortress.
My regions southward released a tooting chorus.

I hacked their computers with the greatest of ease.
Clogging their computers with my rancid brown grease.

My escape was tricky, but I’d acquired the stolen data.
This was how I got my agent codename, The Master Farter.

Stealthily I had gassed the enemy’s security defenses.
Dropping their weapons, I’d paralysed all their senses.

Once in safety I concealed the information.
Hidden down deep in my southern location.

I crossed the border and I made it to my home base.
Dropping my pants, I unloaded into my briefcase.

Freshly dumped and steaming, the prized treasure was revealed to me.
The microfilm containing pooping techniques of the enemy!

Pure Pooetry

No comments

You can be the first one to leave a comment.

Leave a Reply