Bowels

I know where we’re going

It’s cold and it is snowing

Traffic’s at a crawl

We’re headed for the mall

I need deodorant and paper towels

Mindy needs something to crank up her bowels

It’s been a week and like the Bee Gees sang “She’s goin’ nowhere.”

I say it just ain’t fair

Just because we’re in our 70s we ought to still be able to poop on demand

Instead we have to take Miralax and other stuff to give us a helping hand

Well maybe “helping hand” isn’t the best way of putting it

But it’s more tasteful than saying “help us take a shit”

Oh my God: now I’ve said “tasteful” in connection with pooping

Now it’s likely the police will come around snooping

When they come to my door I’ll raise my hands in the air

“See: they are clean and I’m wearing my own underwear.”

Suddenly, the car is spinning in the snow out of control

We flip over after hitting a huge pothole

Suddenly, Mindy has started to go

Back to back accidents, wouldn’t you know?

The car was totaled for more reasons than one

And Mindy and I have decided to move somewhere where there’s always sun