The saddest day of my life.
My mud baked excrement died at sea. Bobbing up and down with the style of a cheap hooker, I wiped a tear from my eye as I said goodbye.
A part of me felt choked as white streams of bog role acted as the white sheet of a murder scene.
No police, no forensics.
Strangulation appeared to be the cause resulting in decapitation.
Wouldn't have happened if I didn't use Manipulation to overcome the chronic constipation.
Last time I eat beans on toast.
Now I'm being haunted by a turd shaped ghost!
Whilst walking down the street
I heard a thunderous tweet;
'Twas a straining little bird
Who couldn't pass a turd.
The little thing was constipated,
Its anus wide dilated;
Tweeting loudly in mid-bog,
Trying to eject a log.
I observed with sympathetic heart
As it trumpeted out a fart;
Straining, chirping loud and long,
Letting off a foul and noisome pong.
I watched for nigh an hour
Its display of anal power;
Then a final intestinal pump
Produced a huge great steaming lump:
A mighty ball of faeces
(a giant of its species,
and total bumhole splitter
which shattered its feathered shitter).