Plywood Fiend
Rear Admiral
This bizzare pastiche is, believe it or not, an English assignment. I thought i'd post it here to amuse, um, fans of overly elaborate toilet humor i guess.
Rhyme of The Phantom Toilet Cleaner
Part the Second
The sun now vanished behind Debenhams,
And to my goal I made my way.
Concealed from sight by lack of light,
I searched for the cursed lavatory.
I hid myself from the pedestrians’ gaze.
Avoided persons of any type.
My task was grave, so myself must I save,
From the guffaws of a passing snipe.
For many a mile I found no soul,
No wanderer did I pass.
I saw only one wretch, passed out in a ditch,
With an overly active arse.
My fortune was not to last that night,
As not a meter from HMV,
I turned a bend and my luck did end,
Another didst notice me.
For moments the man stood silent,
Disbelief in his eyes.
But after the shock, at my pink smock,
The laughter began to rise.
He sniggered at my hairnet.
Did giggle at my cleaning supplies.
But soon did hush; with my bog brush,
I whacked him in the eyes.
The brush was coated with strongest bleach,
Stronger still than acid.
At wondrous pace, it reduced his face,
To nought but odorous gas.
I continued on my righteous quest,
Made haste towards my goal.
Hopeful that I would not have,
To vanquish another fool.
Eventually I did sight the place,
Where I was needed most.
A wretched place of grime and waste,
Where only the mould could boast.
Abandoned by the former owner,
Who had fled to sunny Madrid,
The ancient Kebab shop had been left to fester,
And fester by God it did.
A single breath could draw to hell,
The sturdiest of men.
So filthy was the cursed shell,
So rotten was it then.
Boastful indeed though this may seem,
But only I could save her.
Only I could stand the stink,
Of dung that predated Trafalgar.
Inside, O Christ, I cannot say.
Of the horrors the shop did host,
Even a rat that came to feast,
Wore a peg upon his nose.
With caution, stepped I forward.
Towards the door marked ‘staff only’.
Beyond this bog, another bog,
Which mortal eyes daren’t see.
I set to work that very minute,
With bleach and brush and sheen.
Twas a wondrous sight, the return of white,
On the toilet previously green.
The sink however was a different matter,
For a contest did begin.
Robin Redbreasts in want of a nest,
Challenged me for the thing.
‘How queer’ quoth I, ‘These birds should want,
So vile and putrid a sink.
To build their nest and raise their young,
Could they not smell the stink?’
I told the birds as much, but they,
With many an amused chirrup.
Said they cared not for fresh air,
Being creatures of an orange hillock.
I followed not their argument,
But realised ‘Why should I care’st so?’
The sink was there’s, I did not care.
And from that place did go.
Twas true the place was still a pit,
But it was not my place to stay.
The shop reeked still, the kitchen could kill.
Yet my task was done that day.
I am the Phantom toilet cleaner,
I toil not with ovens,
I only stir from my secluded lair,
When an odorous toilet beckons.
Rhyme of The Phantom Toilet Cleaner
Part the Second
The sun now vanished behind Debenhams,
And to my goal I made my way.
Concealed from sight by lack of light,
I searched for the cursed lavatory.
I hid myself from the pedestrians’ gaze.
Avoided persons of any type.
My task was grave, so myself must I save,
From the guffaws of a passing snipe.
For many a mile I found no soul,
No wanderer did I pass.
I saw only one wretch, passed out in a ditch,
With an overly active arse.
My fortune was not to last that night,
As not a meter from HMV,
I turned a bend and my luck did end,
Another didst notice me.
For moments the man stood silent,
Disbelief in his eyes.
But after the shock, at my pink smock,
The laughter began to rise.
He sniggered at my hairnet.
Did giggle at my cleaning supplies.
But soon did hush; with my bog brush,
I whacked him in the eyes.
The brush was coated with strongest bleach,
Stronger still than acid.
At wondrous pace, it reduced his face,
To nought but odorous gas.
I continued on my righteous quest,
Made haste towards my goal.
Hopeful that I would not have,
To vanquish another fool.
Eventually I did sight the place,
Where I was needed most.
A wretched place of grime and waste,
Where only the mould could boast.
Abandoned by the former owner,
Who had fled to sunny Madrid,
The ancient Kebab shop had been left to fester,
And fester by God it did.
A single breath could draw to hell,
The sturdiest of men.
So filthy was the cursed shell,
So rotten was it then.
Boastful indeed though this may seem,
But only I could save her.
Only I could stand the stink,
Of dung that predated Trafalgar.
Inside, O Christ, I cannot say.
Of the horrors the shop did host,
Even a rat that came to feast,
Wore a peg upon his nose.
With caution, stepped I forward.
Towards the door marked ‘staff only’.
Beyond this bog, another bog,
Which mortal eyes daren’t see.
I set to work that very minute,
With bleach and brush and sheen.
Twas a wondrous sight, the return of white,
On the toilet previously green.
The sink however was a different matter,
For a contest did begin.
Robin Redbreasts in want of a nest,
Challenged me for the thing.
‘How queer’ quoth I, ‘These birds should want,
So vile and putrid a sink.
To build their nest and raise their young,
Could they not smell the stink?’
I told the birds as much, but they,
With many an amused chirrup.
Said they cared not for fresh air,
Being creatures of an orange hillock.
I followed not their argument,
But realised ‘Why should I care’st so?’
The sink was there’s, I did not care.
And from that place did go.
Twas true the place was still a pit,
But it was not my place to stay.
The shop reeked still, the kitchen could kill.
Yet my task was done that day.
I am the Phantom toilet cleaner,
I toil not with ovens,
I only stir from my secluded lair,
When an odorous toilet beckons.