Watch Where You’re Pointing That Thing

• Peter perpetually found himself pissing On poop-stains that painted the bowl, Pete’s powerful pee-stream projected forth hissing, Propelling with practiced control. • He fragmented floaters with frolicsome ease, In a golden, mercurial dance, Then he’d curse at the sky and he’d fall to his knees When the splash-back would pepper his pants. • Advertisements

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