Twice told toilet tale – a cheeky execrable gross fable

which poetic product best be affixed

with hashtag STINKY label.

 

As a young whippersnapper

and one precocious lad to boot,

I discovered common combustible materials

found in the bathroom.

 

At opportune times,

I blithely tinkered with dangerous chemicals

that could (but never did)

explode into one humongous

fiery maelstrom and

bloom (re: annihilate)

this lad to smithereens.

 

Window kept open to avoid

un--necessary nor accidental asphyxiation.

After clearing defecation deep within,

the recesses of my bowels,

I thenceforth indiscriminately combined

various household cleansers

and cleaners (in powder

and/or liquid form) into the bidet.

 

The requisite sphincter muscle

byproduct constituted the key ingredient.

Anyway, my aha moment arrived

one childhood day

that long sought after ka-boom

sent a plume of smoke

in tandem with geyser of water

caused me to feel

flush with excitement.

 

Waste trill fluttering filled mine heart

(like music to thine ears)

after mine solid waste

fecal byproduct went kerplunk

and caused tsunami

on other side of word.

 

Mere seconds elapsed

before explosive outcome found me

hurled clear across the room

like a bat out of hell.

 

Fortunate for me that this

natural bodily excretory function

never caused any serious outcome,

nor injury to life nor limb.

Immaculate notes (with graphic pictures –

albeit crude) attempted to document

any pertinent information.

 

At some juncture

with this private laboratory experiment,

a close observation

(with nose pinched tight)

revealed bubbles of air trapped within

our archaic household plumbing fixtures.

 

That aha i.e.eureka moment

prompted me to utter “holy shit”

when a chain reaction similar

to volcanic rush of air took place

within the planet.

 

With haste not waste,

these nimble fingers scribbled

unintelligible (deliberately illegible

to everybody but myself)

the chemical romance

to light a fire under the buttocks

of whomever happened

to be in need of emptying their bowels.

 

Now, I eagerly waited,

(albeit with impatience)

for that opportune time

whereby thee unsuspecting child

or adult needed to answer

that alimentary call of nature

my dear Watson.

 

The moment of anticipation arrived

when a long forgotten accursed relative

visited unexpected, which unannounced

rap on the door fueled fanciful notion

to whip up potion to promulgate prank

within the potty.

 

Once necessary ingredients,
(which secret formula cannot be divulged –

well maybe for a negotiable fee)

got poured giddy glee

generated gloating from head to toe.

 

Quick as Jack B Nimble

or his best friend Jack B. Quick,

these skinny legs (spindleshanks) sped away,

yet in close activity to the innocent

by sitter who nonchalantly ambled

into the powder room to tend to private business.

 

Right ear cocked against wall

that served as barrier between

occupant of water closet and yours truly.

 

Pleasant barely audible

humming, tweeting, and twittering

(like an angry) bird

singing emanated while obnoxious

guest of dishonor proceeded

to place posterior atop potty.

 

Seconds ticked by

with every now and again

pages of printed material heard

in conjunction with abdominal

groans and grunts to assist sacrifice

to the porcelain goddess.

 

Utter stillness suddenly punctuated

by the initial sound of a splash into the crapper.

 

I cupped hands to mouth

lest any unwanted guffaw slip out.

 

Instantaneously, our pestilential

kooky cousin kissed their ass goodbye

as propulsion forced the body politick

clear thru the unwelcome ample sized window.

 

Goodbye Charlie (pseudonym used here

to protect the not so innocent)

soon became diminishing shape

spiraling toward the horizon.

 

One speck of flotsam headed spaceward

versus the turgid turd joining brethren

into the sewerage cistern.

 

Written by: Edgar Allan poop,
who required quite some time to recoup,
and with slops pail headed off
to collect specimens from the latest scoop
rearing to go bouncing along

ass signed to another bum rap,

whereby blistered buttucks

hopes to earn yours truly another touché
(tush hay) before bottom smacked

courtesy leader of troop

a strong indigenous native son,

whose butt tressed reputation

recounts storied war whoop.