In the dead of winter I suddenly realise…
My icy brown turdicles begin to crystallise.
I dream of streaming brown flurry.
Like the aftermath of a rancid curry.
Flakes of ice settle on my exposed hide.
Chilly nuggets I deposit with pride.
The freezing bowl sticks to my cheeks.
The air is frozen yet the bog still reeks.
If I had a hammer I could crack this shit apart.
My anus is so frozen I can’t even give out a shart.
The high risk of hypothermia draws near.
Frosty bowel movements may cost me my rear.
They say not to eat the yellow snow.
So I make my own steamy Play Dough.
I create The Chalet of Shit with my bogs.
It’s walls made of my laid brown logs.
From the frigid winds, I’m safe at last.
Now I’m free to give a final rectal blast.