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!