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Oh Sprays oh sprays it seems it’s me that you have chosen,
I sit here in tears and my legs have long ago frozen
As I sit here and leak my day seams very bleak,
Estimating how long I’ll have to sit in my own stink

To ease the agony I bite down on my leather belt
And I can’t help but wonder if my intestines really did melt
Oh why oh why does this always happen to me,
Looks as if someone spilled and entire bucket of iced tea.

Oh sprays you are a prison with in one’s self,
It’s even a gamble to get up to grab the Imodium off of my shelf.
You never know when you are ever really done,
You have to be on call 24 -7 with a toilet close enough to run.

Every time I fart it’s a dangerous game of sorts,
It’s like playing Russian Rullet with my poor under shorts.
I lay down, cross my legs and try and fall asleep,
Hoping that I can find some new bed sheets on the cheap

You never give me warning nor a second to prepare,
Basically you say let’s go, but challenge me if you dare
Oh sprays we dare not fight you as it’s a losing war we know,
We can just pray your kind by having a news paper next to wear we go

That isn’t even the worst as there is another main issue,
It’s the beating and the abuse my @$$ takes from the dreadful toilet tissue
I’m soar and cranky and my co-workers are starting to wonder what is that scream?
And when cleaning myself the paper is looking like Neapolitan ice cream.

So sprays please be gentle now that you know my beef,
Be kind and considerate and please send me some relief
I am so so so sorry my breakfast was about 9 eggs,
But can you please send some blood flow back into my legs

I promise I’ll treat you better if this is my last batch of the day,
When I look in the toilet I am reminded of Galveston Bay
Finally it’s all over so I walk back to my desk in pain,
Right when I sit down I realize, aww ****, I have to go again

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Comfortably Dropping a load at the A/C'd Saint Arnold's. Something not possible a few years ago.

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Every time I fart it’s a dangerous game of sorts,
It’s like playing Russian Rullet with my poor under shorts.
I lay down, cross my legs and try and fall asleep,
Hoping that I can find some new bed sheets on the cheap

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What Am I?
I sweat and I gasp with any activity I do
When I run or exercise my thighs stick together like glue
My pants are tighter and tighter my Moral is low
I can’t even remember the last time I even saw one toe
When dressing nice beware as you may be killed by a flying button from my suit
I started the tsunami while scuba diving with just a mere toot
I turn down no food and I even dip it in Ranch
When I sit on a park bench I snap it like a tiny branch
I love pizzas, pastas, fried chickens and fries
Yet let us not forgot I also enjoy ice cream, cakes and pies
My colon hates me and my heart hates me too
How many steps can I take till I’m exhausted? The answers very few
I am jolly and rosy and for the most part fun,
And in this world my muffin top is second to none
So what am I?
No I’m not a super hero, a dog or a cat
I’m not a politician, and athlete, or a bat
What I am is just flat out Fat!

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And when cleaning myself the paper is looking like Neapolitan ice cream.

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Mine smell like roses

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Half a loaf

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An ejected clump of feces that is not heavy enough to drop off your dingleberry forest

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I think you mean, on the office copier.

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