The dreaded stink of a thousand shits.
Came wafting from my southern pits.

It was introduced by a greasy mudslide.
Trailing the porcelain it did glide.

As it oozed from my wretched behind.
I became aware of the smell so unkind.

And the noise that it let out.
As it gave it’s fecal shout.

Was a bubbling, spluttering mess.
I should see a doctor, I confess.

Such was the nature of this unloading.
I was overcome with a sense of foreboding.

So I wrapped up my current disposition.
Using the toilet paper, I needed no inquisition.

But the smell hung as if I were a mortician.
This rotting shit proved I needed a physician.