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Submitted by Robert (London, Some State) on 08.26.16

The morning wasn't brilliant, for poor Robert that day,
He awoke quite early, with a cramp that stabbed away
And when he tried to shrug it off, the stabbing only grew
So he wound up in the bathroom, with bowl of number 2.

Now before we get too far in this, I'd like to set the scene
For we were off in London, staying with a man quite clean
In his small apartment, Matthew ran a B&B
And he was known to woke at eight, while our hero shat at 3.

Now in this small apartment, there were but bathrooms one,
And for the host to find that crap, would clearly not be fun.
So sickly Rob did scour the house, to remedy his blunder
but despite all of his searching, he could find but not one plunger.

So after an hour of panic, poor Rob had to take a stop
and on his mound of feces, he piled more on top.
the problem once quite plunge-able had now so quickly grew
Into the worlds largest load, of reeking human poo.

Frantically he did woke his wife, to see if she could fix it
she suggested some hot water, and a stick with which to mix it
Poor Robert now quite frantic claimed, she did not comprehend
that he had made a pile so high, no tiny stick could mend.

Now his next play was quite naive, to try and save some clout
a desperate move to clear the pot, before Matthew came out.
With bag on hand and bag in pail, sick Robert went a scooping
he filled the pail and cleared the john, which he had filled with pooping

Now what he did with the bag of poop, will never be made known,
all that was said post slipping out, was that pail had found a home.
despite the nasty deed he'd done, though some say he did rush
for in-spite of all he'd tried, that toilet would not flush.

There seemed but a single way, he could complete the chore
he'd go out on a noble quest, to find a hardware store
If he left now and hurried on, he'd be back before eight
And Matthew would be none the wiser, left with a clean slate

And so out in the London rain, sick Robert went a walking
but quickly to his horror found, his cramps had followed stalking.
But with some luck and feet so fast, he ducked into a market
where he could safely let it out, on that which he had parked it.

Now feeling better, though quite weak back on his trek he went
but not one block poor Robert walked, before his luck was spent.
He felt a surge from deep within, and so his legs did cross
and to his relief he held it back, that nasty sickly sauce.

Groan, cry his maddened bowel, and an echo answered Groan,
And Robert in his panic, checked for service on his phone,
And as a toot squeaked through his cheeks, and chimed in sweet refrain,
and Robert knew that he could never trust a fart again.

Up ahead and to the right, he saw a department store
and so to it our hero ran, for he knew there would be more.
He pleaded with the greeter, for her to point him to the loo,
she pointed to the toilet and said, go do what you must do.

He walked across the store then jogged, as the feeling kept on growing,
For getting to that toilet stall was all that kept him going.
A raging cramp came though his gut, his legs he crossed again,
and struggling 'gainst the rushing wave, he kept it in with strain.

The fear was full in Robert's face, his cheeks were clenched in hate
he held with tightest violence, his sphincter in that state.
And now poor Robert holds it in, Oh no he let it go,
And now the store is shattered by the rush of Robert's flow.

Oh somewhere in the favored land the sun is shining bright.
A band is playing somewhere, and somewhere pants are light.
And somewhere men aren't crappy, and somewhere people dance
but there is no joy in ASDA, Mighty Robert's shat his pants.

Vote:Yeah! You Shit the *Shit* out of yourself! 298 Not So Much 312


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