In this special episode, the Gentlemen’s Guide to Toilet Etiquette shares a cautionary tale about the dangers of festive starters, through the most manly of mediums: poetry.
When Christmas comes, this time of year,
We all indulge in wine and beer,
And eat until we’ve had our fill,
Or just until we feel quite ill.
And then the family fun begins,
As the veg ventures to our rings,
And we honk and peep and parp and squeak,
Off to the bogs we try to sneak.
But already there, a queue is forming,
And you can feel your ringpiece warming,
4 cousins in front, you can count,
While a turtlehead starts to poke its way out.
You knew you shouldn’t have had that broth,
Because now you’re touching cloth,
Your sphincter twitches like a rabbit’s nose,
And you’re eager to release the flows.
A quick glance back and the queue has grown,
Each clenching and squeezing with a quiet groan,
The line is now up to eight!
And you begin to realise you can not wait.
Along the landing down the stairs,
Forget your dignity, no-one cares,
Out the front door, into the garden,
The turtlehead begins to harden.
Across the street to a neighbour’s door,
As sailors say, any port in a storm,
You beg and plead with your charm and wit,
And explain your desperation for a shit.
He lets you in and points up the stairs,
You sprint past him and take them in pairs,
Your insides feel like they’ve been in a blender,
You arse turns French and tries to surrender.
You’re eager to release the train,
Seated upon white porcelain,
But OH MY GOD, what a travesty!
They’ve only gone and run out of TP.
Where shall we go? What can we do?
You’re really desperate for a poo!
Back down the stairs, “get out my way!”
Usain Bolt couldn’t keep up today.
Vaulting over the privet hedge,
Up the drainpipe to the window ledge,
Smash the window, across the hall,
Lock the door and let it fall.
There’s nothing quite so bittersweet,
As an already warm toilet seat,
Unless of course, you’ve come to be
Sat there after B & E
The neighbour bangs upon the door,
“Sorry! I couldn’t take any more!”
“You smashed my window, you little git!”
“But I was desperate for a shit!”
And despite the pain you could not bear,
All that comes out is piss and air,
That epic dump you thought you were needing,
Just smelly air and a little bleeding.
You wipe and flush and then reclothe,
You’ve broken that must humble oath,
To never encroach on another man’s throne,
You must use the one you own.
You open the door to face the music,
Your neighbour’s about to totally lose it,
He lashes out and pulls your hair,
And then falls backwards, down the stair.
You hear a CRACK! And he stops moving,
But as a plus, your bowels are improving,
In the distance a Police siren wails,
Seriously, now, it’s time to bail.
Out the window down the pipe,
Across the street, keep out of sight!
It doesn’t take long, 10 minutes, no more,
Before the Police turn up at your door.
A whole year later, in a single verse,
And things have gone from bad to worse.
While your family and friends enjoy Christmas Day,
You’re locked in a cage at Guantanamo Bay.
Wishing you a merry, murder-free Yule! Ho, ho, ho…