This guy has some serious skills. Flatulist
From Here and created by Dog Butt Juice.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a butt hole was stirring, except mine, cause I farted
The paper was hung by the toilet with care,
In hopes that St. Fecal-ass soon would wipe there
The children were squatting all snug on their pots,
While traces of dingle-berries danced in their farts;
mamma was in her undies, and I dropped my flap
and had just settled down for a long winter’s crap,
When out on the lawn, someones butt made a clatter,
I sprang from the pot to see who made the splatter.
Away to the window I flew like a winner,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my dinner.
The sky farted moonlight on new-fallen snow
Gave the stink of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering nostrils should sense,
But a caca-stained sleigh, and eight reindeer’s mess,
With a smelly old driver there taking a dump,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Rump.
More rapid than eagles his trousers they fell,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by smell;
“Now, STREAKER! now, STACKER! now, LOAFY and POOPOO!
On, FLUSHY! on CRAPPY! on, SLOPPY and DOODOO!
On the top of the porch! all over the wall!
Now pinch away! wipe away! flush away all!”
As a nugget which with the wild flatulence fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, fart to the sky,
So up to the house-top the stainers they flew,
With his pants full of stink, and St. Fecal-ass’ poo.
And then there was tinkling I heard on the roof
The squeezing and squirting of each little poof.
As he squeezed himself through it, our chimney stained brown,
Down my pantleg a loaf-o-log fell to the ground
He was skinky and brown from his bum to his shoe,
And his clothes were all tarnished with tinkle and poo
An aroma of poopie encompassed his stance,
As he loosened his belt, he lowered his pants
His ass — oh how stinky! his pantlegs how brown!
His cheeks were all sore from his night on the town
But somehow he knew what for christmas we wanted,
His teeth became clenched as he shook and he grunted
The stump of a turtlehead tight in his cheeks,
And the brown cloud encircled his ass like a wreath;
a big dinner two nights ago clearly was destined
to drop to the floor from his lower intestine
It was chubby and plump, a right smelly old loaf,
And I winced when I stunk it, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye from his overturned head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but his ass did the talking
as he lifted his tooshie and filled all the stockings
And raising his pants, I covered my nose,
with a squeeze of his cheeks, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh and then off they did dart,
And away they all flew like the cloud of a fart
But I heard him exclaim, as he shrank to an inch
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD PINCH!”