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To some men its a place where time stands still. A trip to the bathroom is like travelling to another dimension, not knowing what in the hell they were doing in there all that time.

This poem is dedicated to those dads who spend too much time pooping. You know who you are.

While you were pooping,
I washed breakfast dishes
Got the kids dressed, and
Quite against my wishes,
Held in my own poop,
Considered a diaper
And scouted the neighbors’
Where I’d plant a sniper
Took my own poop
With toddler on knee
Asking, “you done?”
So he could be my flushee
I let out the dog,
And he pooped in the yard
With you behind a closed door
I was Captain Picard
Because I made it so
Kept our family together
Packed up the car,
Researched the weather
I wait for your flush,
Not that I’m snooping,
But the whole morning passed
While you were pooping
If pooping were productive
You’d accomplish a lot
But I am stuck doing everything
While you sit on the pot.

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