When I awoke I felt that familiar strong pull from my lower intestines that I have come to learn can only mean one thing, it was time to poop. All of the food I had eaten yesterday had been stripped of nutrients and transformed from delicious apples and chicken fingers into a brown mass of what once was. But something was different this time, something has changed. I couldn’t put my finger on what was different but I put it out of my mind and continued on toward the bathroom. I stopped before disrobing my lower half and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is getting long, I should get it cut soon, but I have more pressing business to attend to now. I must poop the shit out of my butt. I take the shorts that were covering my wiener and butt off and sit down on the toilet. I start to push the snake of refuse out of my body like I’ve done a thousand times before, but this time I find no relief. I instantly realize what’s different. My butthole has disappeared. I know my life is over. The same thing happened to my great uncle, Ernest. I will end my life. Goodbye.
bonus: the dozens
‘Twas the poop before Poopmas, when all through the poop
Not a poop was pooping, not even a poop;
The poop were hung by the poopney with poop,
In hopes that St. Poop soon would be there;
The poop were nestled all snug in their poop,
While visions of sugar-poop danced in their poop;
And poop in her ‘kerchief, and I in my poop,
Had just settled down for a long poop’s nap,
When out on the poop there arose such a pooper,
I sprang from the poop to see what was the pooper.
Away to the window I poop like a poop,
Tore open the poop and threw up the poop.
The poop on the breast of the new-fallen poop
Gave the lustre of poop to poop below,
When, what to my wondering poop should appear,
But a miniature poop, and eight tiny poop,
With a little old poop, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Poop.
More rapid than poop his coursers they pooped,
And he pooped, and pooped, and called them by poop;
“Now, POOP! now, POOP! now, POOP and POOP!
On, POOP! on POOP! on, POOP and POOP!
To the top of the poop! to the top of the poop!
Now poop away! poop away! poop away all!”
As dry poops that before the wild poop fly,
When they meet with an poop, mount to the poop,
So up to the poop-top the coursers they pooped,
With the sleigh full of poop, and St. Poop too.
And then, in a pooping, I heard on the poop,
The prancing and pawing of each little poop.
As I drew in my poop, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Poop came with a poop.
He was dressed all in poop, from his head to his poop,
And his clothes were all tarnished with poop and poop;
A bundle of poop he had flung on his poop,
And he looked like a peddler just pooping his pack.
His poops — how they twinkled! his dimples how poopie!
His poops were like roses, his poop like a cherry!
His droll little poop was drawn up like a poop,
And the poop of his chin was as white as the poop;
The stump of a poop he held tight in his teeth,
And the poop it encircled his poop like a wreath;
He had a broad poop and a little round poop,
That shook, when he pooped like a bowlful of poop.
He was poopie and poop, a right jolly old poop,
And I pooped when I saw him, in spite of poop;
A wink of his poop and a twist of his poop,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to poop;
He pooped not a word, but went straight to his poop,
And filled all the poops; then pooped with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his poop,
And giving a poop, up the chimney he pooped;
He pooped to his poop, to his team gave a poop,
And away they all pooped like the down of a poop.
But I pooped him exclaim, ere he drove out of poop,
HAPPY POOPMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-POOP!
-thomas harrison irby