Diarrhoea, it's not funny,
Trapped wind and gypy tummy.
Doubled up in a lot of pain,
And off to the toilet again.
Trousers down, let's go, let's start,
but not this time, it's just a fart.
Here we go, it's my second wind,
To this bog seat, my cheeks are twinned.
A bubbly tune my arse does sing,
whilst I’m developing a painful ring.
From the constant twitching, my sphincter goes
Will it end? Who fucking knows.
It's getting ridiculous, a little bit silly,
Just got splashback, and it’s fucking chilly.
Bloody champion, my arse is damp.
and in my legs I'm getting cramp.
I despatch a turd around the bend,
Hoping the nightmare comes to an end.
Alas, no bog roll to be found.
so for a substitute I look around.
I grab a towel and hold aloft,
Upon my cheeks this will be soft.
The toilet brush with it's bristles so long,
will reach nook and cranny, yet so wrong.
and dodgy liquid it does dip,
from its bristley and piss wet tip,
The cupboard door, it is ajar,
I can reach, it's not that far,
Dettol wipes, toilet duck,
Use on my arse? will I fuck.
Out of the corner of my eye,
A pack of Bodyform I did spy.
Cotton like top, so said the hype,
So upon my arse I did wipe.
So soft, so nice, it's not in vain,
So I fold in half and wipe again.
The sticky strips on the wings unpeel,
A gentle tug on the hair I feel,
The sticky strip is stuck fast,
The towel again I tightly grasp.
It gives, it's off, I feel euphoric,
The pains intense and slightly erotic!
My brain laughs out "what a farce"
"You daft fucker, you've waxed your arse"