you shall shat, nevermore

Once upon a mid-day dreary, while I shat myself weak and weary,
Over a quaint and curious volume of Showtime Rotisserie instructions,
While I shatted, nearly crying, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-pot door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber-pot door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Presently the stench grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I am shatting, and so gently you come rapping,
And so harrowing my business here, the noises strange and queer,
That I scarce am 'fraid to answer' - till then wide opened did the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.


i would like to say that this is just a poem told by a fanciful yeti, but it is not. it's a true story.