Saturday, September 06, 2014

Ave, Elisson!

Elisson blogs and waxes poetic about his recent colonoscopy.

This calls for a poem of my own:

when science's shaft
is shoved deep in your aft
and the world is gloomy and dire
take heart, for you know
that no polyps will grow
in the tube where your ass-cannon fires

for isn't it rich
to be science's bitch
as the thing up your bum will attest
your doc sets a date
he says, "Let's irrigate!"
and your balls retreat into your chest

with your insides ballooned
and your brain all cocooned
and your colon quite prepped by the teams
'tis a matter of time
for that feeling sublime
to produce some magnificent screams

it takes balls made of brass
for a tube in your ass
to be given the freedom to roam
glad it's you and not me
on the table at three
as a snake makes your asshole its home



  1. Brilliant! I laughed until I shat. (Not really. Empty, you know.)

  2. Excellent, and it was Elisson who turned me on to you. Serendipity.

  3. Grazie, Texas Annie.

    Elisson: perhaps you couldn't shit, but I hope the anus at least managed a dry cough.

  4. Well, one of the coughs, alas, was not entirely dry.




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