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Oh, small piece of toilet paper clinging to my bum hairs
Knowing that beyond the comfort of these pants no one cares.
You didn't want to wipe my poos
Or join your fellow stained tissues
So I respect your urge to choose
To come with me downstairs.

And though you cannot do a thing to help enrich my life
You brought a little morsel of amusement to my wife
Without whom I'd have never known,
Your cover would not have been blown.
Now, I've discovered that I'm prone
To this peculiar strife.

But soon, alas, your bum hair clinging days will reach their end
For next time I extrude a turd I shall lose you my friend
With savage wipes you will be cleared
And torn free from my anal beard
With stinking shit you will be smeared
And flushed around the bend.

Oh, tiny piece of tissue, I'm aware this isn't clever
But, can I truly let this special link we have be severed?
I just can't bear to see you perish,
I'll pluck you free, to love and cherish,
I'll dress you up in clothes so garish
And care for you forever.

Mike Stools (b. 1962)