I never thought that we were doomed
Until I learned my toilet plumed.
I was shocked! Cuz on the hole,
One learns to trust his toilet bowl.
It’s sad I think. Cuz in the end,
One likes to think his bowl his friend
With whom he can consort in private.
(Ain’t that why it’s called a “privit.”)
... Consort in privacy and share
One’s inmost secrets with him there.
I guess I shouldn’t take for granted
When I visit him ... unpanted...
And... (excuse me)... leave behind
What I came with on my mind,
Unload on him, and then abscond
And not expect him to respond.
But to lash back with a plume
Before I even leave the room,
Before I’m even up ... and just
When I’ve turned to him and flushed,
A plume! ... I guess to disrespect me,
Or even worse, they say, infect me
With a virus-born revenge.
It’s enough to make you cringe.
I’m saddened. I’m repulsed. I’m shocked.
And worse than that, I find I’m blocked.
I’ve taken pills, I’ve hoped and waited,
But three days now ... constipated.
Oh, death! Oh, doom! Oh, bitter end!
When you cannot trust your friend.
But who can visit tiled rooms
Once he’s read of toilet plumes?!