To Whom It May Concern:
I write to you with the fervent hope
that my plight may soon be known.
My ordeal began as soon as I plunked
my ass on the porcelain throne.
It seems mixing shots of tequila
with gravy-smothered pita
was clearly not the way to go.
Hence, my ass exploded,
the tidy bowl overloaded,
and the septic tank lurched below.
Soon I grew quite curious,
as TP flew fast and furious,
as to why the toilet wouldn’t flush.
Then the TP ran out
and I was forced to shout
expletives above the hush.
With all of that straining,
grumbling and complaining,
something popped, I’m afraid.
Perhaps the third slice of pie
and Mom’s disapproving eye
shan’t mix with political shade.
Alas, my lower lumbar gave way
and I’m dreadfully sorry to say
my exit plan is now quite murky.
So if you could please send help
as soon as you possibly can…welp…
I will choke down your friggin’ Tofurky.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Go easy on the gravy!