I went in search of some relief,
From these things that gave me grief.
I gave up booze and at fresh fruit,
But still my bottom had the toots.
I exercised, and got fresh air,
But still my health did not repair.
So, I went to see my doctor friend,
Who recommended they look in that end.
I consumed a drink that tasted foul!
It sure did empty out my bowel.
Then they took a camera that could really bend,
And shoved the thing right up my end.
I think it stretched from my head right to my toes.
But it revealed the cause of all my woes.
They gave me pills and changed my diet.
Now when I eat my bottom doesn’t riot!
So when you ask what comforts me,
It’s having poos that are just like wees!
About the Creator
D-Donohoe
Amateur storyteller, LEGO fanatic, leader, ex-Detective and human. All sorts of stories: some funny, some sad, some a little risqué all of them told from the heart.
Thank you all for your support.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Hilarious!