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Pooetry

A Pooetry Collaboration: The Shit of a Thousand Wipes

Something was wrong south of the border. I could tell by my pungent and moist ripsnorter.

The temperature was spicy and felt a bit hairy. I had to hurry to release this dingleberry.

Not a moment too soon my bowels gave warning. My anus opened as if it was yawning.

Then out flew a deuce… a magnificent clump. But something went wrong… I was left with a dangling stump.

I wiped and I wiped at this phantom fecal limb. But upon inspecting the paper, things were looking grim.

Like a fly to a spider, stuck in its web. The poo did not loosen not even a thread.

I can’t believe it, I’m one roll down, it seems I have a never-ending brown.

I’ve been cursed with the dreaded Shit of a Thousand Wipes. It’s as I have a squatter steadfast inside my flesh pipes.

Oh the dread of what’s in my cavity, what did I do to deserve such calamity?

My arms are tired from wiping, as the papers wear thin. My emaciated butthole still smiling a terrible grin.

Pure Pooetry

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