An Ode to the Poop Nuggets

Sometimes I think I poop too fast
Food doesn’t digest before it’s passed.
“Corn in Corn out” is the phrase,
But what comes out ain’t just maize.
Peanuts, bubble-gum, beans and more,
They all look just like fresh from the store.

An Ode to Dingleberries

Hanging from your anal hair,
Making marks in your under-ware.
Little brown balls of yesterday’s dump,
Living in the crack of your rump.
Day old poop that got left behind,
Hiding there for your lover to find.

An Ode to the Runners

In and out of the john all day,
pushing people out of your way.
Running desperately for the pot
before you “spill mud” right on the spot.
Foul fecal-soup brewing up in your gut,
it feels like you’re just peeing out of your butt.
And when you’re done, you still don’t feel fine,
‘Cause you know you’ll be back - It’s just a matter of time!

An Ode to Flushing

We push the little handle at least once a day,
and with a whoosh and a swirl the poop sinks away.
It sounds like it choking on every brown inch,
but it all goes away... except for the stench.

An Ode to the mis-directed pee

Twelve inches wide and two feet away,
you’d think that your stream would not go astray.
But then there are times when you just cant hit the spot,
And little yellow pools form to the side of the pot.

An Ode to Convenience Store Toilets

Right where you need them in your hour of need,
used by millions who’ve stopped and peed,
We borrow the key with the gigantic chain
to unlock that filthy room of stains.
The cobwebs that grace the air vents...
The condom dispenser that’s only 75 cents...
The gang graffiti and poetry that’s crude,
The drawings of several women in the nude.
Admissions of juveniles with “pimpin” ambitions,
Small stick figures in sexual positions...
They only thought we learned sex-ed in schools,
but it was 7-11 made scholars from these fools!

An Ode to the Big White Mint:

Guardian of the sacred throne,
smelling fresh and white as bone.
Your horrid job we envy not,
dissolving slowly into the pot.
But daily you preform you duty,
taking away the smells of pootie.
And so for quietly freshening up the pee,
we salute and take aim at thee!

An Ode to Odor:

It’s enough to make you run,
It’s enough to make you cry.
It’ll eat paint right off the walls,
It smells like something died.
It’s not enough to sit and grunt
and sigh and use some paper...
If you want to be a real man,
you’ve got to make some vapor!

An Ode to Hangers:

Flex the sphincter and shake the ass,
but the hanging turd just wont pass.
One more push and arch the spine,
Ahhhh... now you can wipe that messy behind!

An Ode to “Floating a Log”:

I tried not to look as I closed the lid,
back into that bowl to see what I’d did.
But curiosity got the best of me,
And so I stared down into the pee.
Low and behold, there she sat,
A big old two footer...3 inches fat.
And pride swole up inside my chest
as I knew I’d floated my all time best!

An Ode to the Commode II:

With four walls, a bowl, and some paper,
we create the clouds of vapor.
And as we sit, we read the walls,
and try to read the graffitied stalls..
Often there are such crude writings
of bathroom poets and their tidings.
But few if any will offer their thanks,
to the little white bowl beneath their flanks.

An Ode to the Commode

Stumbling, fumbling, bending, hurling.
Hugging you as if sterile sterling.
Our only friend in the hour of need,
we puke up our guts where once we peed.

An Ode to the Porcelain God:

Oh porcelain bowl, oh plastic lid,
to thee we bear the parts we’ve hid.
Pale white buns we press on thee,
as we offer up the pee.

An Ode to Jalapenos:

Cheeks pressed against the lid,
wondering what it was I did.
What it was I ate today,
that made my ass-hole feel this way.
Grunting hard against the john,
I wished the burning pain all gone.
With Grunt and push, and plop and sigh,
those jalapenos go bye-bye.