The Septic Chronicles

It started with a chili dog. Then came the tremors. Now I sit

on the porcelain throne of destiny. Beans were a bargain, I couldn't resist.

Loaded my plate with a gastron-tistinal twist. Cheese like lava, meat like doom.

Now I'm sweating bullets in the bathroom. My gut's a ticking time bomb,

my soul cries out for Tums. But it's too late, brace the bowl,

the reckoning has begun! Turned half moon, full turd. The prophecy's been

heard. A seismic shift, a toilet rift, the pipes begin to surge.

Half moon, full turd. No mercy, no safe word. I'm dropping low,