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A Sticky End
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....and so it begins
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Up in the sky, where the CIA had their satellite
The 'strains' of his discomfort were transmitted, byte by byte.
We have him, he has got the shakes, the spies said with much glee
So they targeted a drone on his outside WC.
With a bang and roar, it was no more, his kharzi now was gone
There now was nowhere he could place his ample sit-upon
He shook his fist and made a list of revenges slow, but sweet,
Such as strangling Dubya with a cast-off winding sheet
But first of all, he could not stall; a lavvy he must find
And preferably with paper, to wipe his large behind.
He knew of places he could go, but none were very secret
but he found one stocked with rocks and even with a free jet.
And in that jet was a toilet, where relief might well be found
(If only it was not ten thousand feet above the ground)
At such a height, it should be known, one's flatus is explosive
And any fallout that ensues is strangely quite erosive
But he didn't care if he caused any natural disasters
He thought they could be fixed with a mix of gauze and plasters
And also he'd forgotten a vital law of motion
Of Isaac Newton's axioms he simply had no notion.
So from a hidden pocket, he took a golf umbrella,
And he stuck it into a giant bowl of jella
He added creams to it, namely whipped and shaving
To most he must sound mad indeed, not to say raving.
And furthermore he added, from inside his secret bag,
A glitter-covered g-string and a dirty, oily rag.
He ate up the concoction with a loud and loathsome gulp
Like that emitted by a frog as it's squashed to a pulp.
And then, from out his innards came a most unusual sound
Something like an ice-cream van, doing its summer round
He thought, "that's strange, for beans I did not eat,"
"And what might this miasma be, now creeping round my seat?"
'Twas far too late, for vengeful Fate gave him what he deserved:
As the implications struck him, he was terribly unnerved
But would not yield so grabbed his shield and sallied forth to fight
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