Blowing boogers on the ground.
Blowing boogers all around.
Blowing boogers in the street.
Blowing boogers on my feet.
Blowing boogers down the hall.
Blowing boogers on the wall.
Blowing boogers , I don't care!
Blowing boogers everywhere!
Did that one land in my soup?
Oh well, I'll eat it! Its not ****.
Did that one land on my pants?
Or did it ricochet per chance?
Did I blow some on your vest?
Holy crap! There's the rest!
Did I blow some in your hair?
Just comb it out and wipe it there!
Did I blow some in your eye?
Oh come on, no need to cry!
Just pick it out and wipe it on
The very thing you sit apon!
Blowing boogers, that's for me!
No hanky here, set them free!
Away they'll fly to a new home.
Far brighter than the one they're from.
So go no hanky, then you'll see.
Flying boogers are meant to be!

Little lung oyster all slimy and green.
In my chest resting quietly you have been.
Peacefully sleeping in your abode.
Disturbed by my coughing and up you rode.
projectile now free ascending my throat.
And into my mouth my tongue you did coat.
With your viscouse body spread all around.
A salty Taste I now have found.
Your texture, creamy and kinda stringy.
With parts of you thick and kinda clingy.
With my teeth, I scrape you off.
And swish you around into a froth.
Through my lips I let you fall.
And **** you back up, bubbles and all.
Oh little lung oyster you're a funny little thing.
Kinda like a slimy string.
Three more times I stretch you out.
And **** back into my mouth.
I then gather you on my tongue.
"P-too-ee!" From my mouth you are flung.
You speed away out of sight.
But not so far as I thought you might.
Your stringyness catches on my front teeth.
And you make a mess on me. "Oh good grief!"
The mess is far larger than I thought.
That something your size could possibly wrought.
You cover my chin and the front of my shirt.
And drip on my shoe. Like that's gonna hurt?
I look like I was run over by a fifty pound snail.
Or splashed with snot from a two gallon pail.
So I wiped what I could off my shirt and my chin.
And swore never to play with lung oysters again.

'Twas Christmas again and the tree was up with tinsel all around.
But by the weird behavior of my cat, there was tinsel where it shouldn't be found.
She was dragging her **** across the floor in a most peculiar way.
Like something was wrong or she had an itch or needed hemorrhoid cream right away.
I caught the cat because I knew this behavior was not right.
So I lifted her tail and, just as I thought, beheld a terrible sight.
A little piece of tinsel stuck right, well you know where.
I then knew I had a task to do that I would not do on a dare.
I held the kitty in my arm and went and found a glove.
And prepared to do what must be done but definitely not out of love.
The kitty's strange behavior was more than I could allow.
Dragging her **** across the floor like a tractor drags a plow.
So with kitty in my arm and her tail in my hand,
I grabbed the piece of tinsel and pulled gently on the strand.
I tried to be careful so the tinsel would not break.
But when I pulled, her little **** clinched."Oh for goodness sake!"
It was quite a sight to see, this twisted tug-of-war.
I think that I am winning! Here comes a little more!
After half an hour, the battle, I finally won.
I held a little trophy that I extracted from her ***.
So if you come to my house at Christmas time next year,
A tree you'll see with ***** and lights and no tinsel anywhere.

Hello again my piece of poo.
Sing your praises again I'll do.
You come in such a wide variety.
Your appearance sometimes surprises me.
Sometimes you plop like it just doesn't matter.
Other times you squirt and the whole bowl splatter.
Sometimes your color is a changing scheme.
Starting brown, ending tan and green.
At times you look like a soft serve cone.
At others like a log floating all alone.
Appearing as an island in the middle of my bowl.
Or like chocolate soup or a weird creole.
Sometimes you can tell what I had to eat.
Like corn or peanuts or some salad with some meat.
You are truly amazing, my precious piece of poo.
And again I say  "Thank you for just being you!"

Oh my little piece of poo,
How much that I do cherish you.
A texture like that of sticky clay.
With an aromatic, stiff bouquet.
I can roll you into little *****.
And stick you to the bathroom walls.
I can shape you any way I want.
And get some more with a little grunt.
If I want you a little runny,
I use prunes to fill my tummy.
"Add some color." did you say?
I'll just eat corn and peanuts. Yay!
Want some green, some red, some blue?
A box of fruitloops, that'll do!
If I want you a little lumpy,
I'll eat raw carrots, their kinda chunky!
Playdough can't come out of my ****,
And I can't make playdough with my gut.
Most people flush you far away.
But I recycle! With you I'll play!
So here's to you, my piece of poo.
Thank you so much for just being you!

One summer day as my bike I rode,
I spied in the street a flattened out toad.
I stopped to look and it was neat,
Perfectly flat against the street.
It must have happened as it crossed the road,
And a car turned it into a flattened out toad.
Its guts had popped out and lay at its side,
And in the hot sun, had perfectly dried.
Its eyeballs were out at each side of its head.
This poor thing was instantly dead.
And as I gazed at it apon the hot asphalt,
I thought to myself "It's not it's fault."
"I'll take it away and bury it right."
So I put it in my pocket and rode out of site.
I rode real hard and I rode quite fast
So the flattened out toad could rest in peace at last.
I ran to the tool shed for a trowl and a pick
So I could dig a hole in which the toad to stick.
Then I ran to the stream and grabbed a small stone
To mark the flattened toads final resting home.
I dug a small hole in the nearby wood
And placed the stone so the grave looked good.
I then reached into my pocket, but to my disbelief,
The toad had disappeared.  "Holy crap! Good grief!"
I knew it couldn't fall out of the pocket in my pants.
So I thought checking again was worth a chance.
I checked once more."Oh please!" I begged.
This time I found the toads two front legs.
I searched with my fingers, deeper yet again.
Then pulled out what looked a flipper or a fin.
"What happened to it?" I began to ponder.
Then I realized, "It is no wonder."
"The riding and running and digging so rough,"
"Had ground the poor toad into parts and stuff."
So I turned out my pocket gently with great care
And checked to make sure all its parts were still there.
Its eyes and its legs, its feet and its head,
Its guts and its body could now go to bed.
I took all the parts and most of the skin
So that, the grave, they could lay therin.
I covered it with dirt and as there I sat,
In the distance I heard a distinctive "Ker-Splat!"

Little pile of fur lying in the road,
What kind of debt could you have possibly owed?
To find yourself now in such a horrid state.
Your little life ending in this terrible fate.
Sitting quietly on that exact spot,
Slow cooked by the sun as on the road you rot.
Maggots now feed slowly on what little bit is left.
Your skin and your bones now of flesh bereft.
Your last moments spent trying to cross a road,
Where an eighteen wheeler sped with a twenty ton load.
Headlights bearing down on you, oh so all alone,
Rubber tires hitting you harder than a stone.
Frozen in the light, you were terrified,
And in a split second becoming liquified.
A little bag of skin that suddenly got popped.
Like a water baloon after having been dropped.
Your guts and stuff splattered everywhere.
The only things left, skin, bones and some hair.
Buzzards and crows now begin to feed,
On a ****** gut shake, yum indeed.
Soon nothing of you will remain,
But a brownish, greyish sort of stain.
Poor little road **** didn't have a chance,
Guess you should have taken a second glance.
Before you crossed that road without a care,
You might not now resemble the stain in my underware.