Modern man has a fancy toilet
He likes to shit a lot
Doesn't notice how much he eats
Stacks of storage he's got
It's all very well to shout
"Diet" to a gullible crowd
Behind their back there's snack
Calories behind a shroud
He's always in the shitter
But never really done shitting
An invisible turd taunts him always
Farts hurt his feeling
He thinks the farts would stain his pants
The guilt make him perspire
The smell would poison little children he fears
Light small trees on fire
Decides to sit until he runs out of paper
Chance has an infinitesimal part
Anytime now a dreaded piece of shit
Or that deadly residual fart
Time drags on as it always does
Little aches here and there
The asshole puckered the whole time
Retracts into a buddhist sphere
The modern man wipes furiously
As if in a histrionic swoon
Makes sure he fingers the hole
Whistling a melancholy tune
He stands up with paper in a chain
And suddenly a turd slithers out
The hallowed gods of all religions
Bring themselves to a pout
The stink is awful, deep and dark
Precursor to a lifelong scar
The modern man must now sit down
And continue the endless war
