I caught no fishes here. Neither did Papa Larry. A toddler next to me caught a sunfish, but not me. What did I catch? I caught me a case of the “Gots-to-pees” and everywhere I turned somebody at this remote, woodsy park said, “Oh say, how’s the fishin in your spot? In my spot I ain’t-a catched nothin.”

“Fine, just dandy.” I’d say.

“That’s a lie, son,” the other fisherpeople said. “You have to pee now dontcha boy?”

I tooka my hat off and scuffed at the ground a bit. “Yessir.”

“Well then you best be on your way then. Go on, get!”

The crapper here is a square chimmney-like hole, covered in streaks of splattered liquid feces, the remanants I’m sure of many bodies purging out the uncooked pork brats and the lactose intolerant ice cream cheese bar treats and braunschwaggwer flavored beer. Ah, lets make that “treets” instead shall we? Good boy.

As I sat on this thrown, I pretended I was Dick Van Dyke in the movieshow, “Mary Poppins.” I pretended that as a chiminny sweep, one of my tasks was to sit on top of somebody’s chimmney and crap in it, and then sing a merry song about my deed.

Would you like to hear my song? Okay, boys and girls. I just knew you would.

Chim-chim-iney, chim-chim-iney
Chim-chim, cheroo,
I had to drop my drawers
on top of your flue!

Chim-chim-iney, chim-chim-iney
chim-chim, cher-ey,
Since I made a BM down your hearth
Then I may as well also pee!

Chim-chim-iney, chim-chim-iney,
Chim-chim, chim-choy-let
The view from your rooftop
Is the view from my toilet.

- Justin Teerlinck