Once upon a midnight dreary, while I sat there
    weak and weary,
The bright white Porcelain rounded toilet bowl
    I hovered o’er,
While I sat there, nearly hurling, suddenly I
    felt a whirling,
As if something gently twirling, twirling at the
    stomach floor;
“ ‘Tis the lobster’s tail” I muttered, “twirling at
    my stomach’s floor.
        Only this and nothing more.”

I can feel my stomach churning, I can feel the
    claw upturning,
Filling me with feelings that I’ve felt right here
    before,
The cherry sweet Mylanta nor the bubbling
    soda Fanta,
Prevented that unpleasant tingling present as
    a sore,
“I pray that this will pass,” said I, “this quite
    unpleasant sore.
        I hope it’s this, and nothing more.”

But with this sour evil comes the prospect of
    upheaval,
I don’t like this unsaintly burden which hath
    made me sore,
I have felt so dismal that the tasteless
    Peptobismol
Hath reacted with the Fanta and my soul did
    now outpour,
I hate to see the lobster from my mouth
    outpour.
        “I hope that there is nothing more!”

Slowly declined my mood as I stared at
    liquid food,
Circling the toilet bowl with stewy chunks
    galore,
But hard as I could try I could not
    identify
The rowdy lobster that hath caused a stirring
    in my core,
“Curse you!” said I, to what hath caused a stirring
    in my core,
        “I wish you death, and nothing more.”

With pride I pulled the lever, never to again
    endeavor
To reunite with something that I sincerely
    abhor.
With the background sound of flushing, I engaged my teeth
    in brushing,
As I left the water, swirling, swirling down into
    the floor.
I left the water whirling, swirling down into
    the floor.
        (I stepped up and hurled again, right outside the door.)