"bellyache" poems - Hello Poetry

To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question: Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings Or to take action against a bellyful of gas, And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to **** But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem; For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come, When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail, Must give us pause; there's the danger That makes calamity of the farter’s life; For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men, The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip, The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing, The leaking **** orifice, and the drips, Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes, When he himself might sweet easance make With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear, Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions, But that the dread of solids after air-release, The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will, And makes us bear the bellyache we have Than fly to others we know not of? Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all; And then the native heave of constipation Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation; And enterprises of both ******* and crapping With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of exciting toilet action.

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Mar 23, 2015

Mar 23, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC

edna-sweetlove

Hamlet's Toilet Problems

To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question: Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings Or to take action against a bellyful of gas, And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to **** But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem; For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come, When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail, Must give us pause; there's the danger That makes calamity of the farter’s life; For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men, The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip, The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing, The leaking **** orifice, and the drips, Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes, When he himself might sweet easance make With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear, Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions, But that the dread of solids after air-release, The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will, And makes us bear the bellyache we have Than fly to others we know not of? Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all; And then the native heave of constipation Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation; And enterprises of both ******* and crapping With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of exciting toilet action.