Here’s yet another sloppy baguette.
This fecal pastry reeks of spaghet.

Baked to poofection, a caca-culinary masterpiece.
With an inner filling of runny brown grease.

This pungent poo pastry packs a putrid punch.
It marinates in the bowl and I ponder my lunch.

It basks in it’s murky and foul watery glory.
Glaring up unapoologetically, not at all feeling sorry.

Hoarding it’s smaller nuggets like a chef with a ladel.
It stirs them menacingly, this wretched fecal bagel.