distended bowel stew stirs vigilant to flee ASSphyxiation! -callen	Oh no, not haiku! Farts and turds, who knows what's next? Is it liquid ass? -cakers
Spontaneous poo Like river, flows where it will Evil stinky death -cakers	I feel it rumble Worried because it's not me It's Carl! The horror -crumpf
Pain! There is no lube. Last spring big bonus fat raise. Ass bleeds, green drug gone. -callen	water glistens blue anal death fire straight from hell poor little asia man -cakers
rumble, roar, thunder the world is not ready count chocula knocks -crumpf	peaceful silence bliss turbulent wind is set free a cacophony -cakers
elephantine growth what was once easy, now hard balls touching water -cakers	tail grows, then falls down splash loud into cold water cold, like December -cakers
exit imminent low deep rumble births fell deed soiled, ashamed, ruined -callen	Too much beer last night Spincter working overtime Pucker up li'l hole -kim
Recoil in horror Chunky remnants in toilet Green brown and lumpy -kim	Funky gym lady How you leave a cloud behind Please wash your coochie -kim
timid flounder hides he knows the awakening do not spray the bowl -crumpf	farm bureau master bowl concealed; oversized gut tremble little knees -cakers
a yellow laser cuts swiftly through the carnage battleship, now two -cakers	hot, greasy biscuit magic dust rains over spuds the Bo knows, Bo knows -crumpf
inevitable pintos, broccoli, garlic, beer bunghole screams curses -callen	see him awaken Mr. Turtle shows his face wrinkled and breathing -cakers
stark coffee meanness saffron lined Pepe Le Pew come feast dread tax man -crumpf	we, unsuspecting carl frees a fish taco painful, acrid death -cakers
time turns yellow black monkey see monkey vomit sleeping copper beast -callen	brip, brap and fizzle cheeks vibrate a harmony what's that funk-ass smell? -cakers
Heed smiling slick snake THE RED PONY IS NO MORE Rejoice and go free -callen	Hark! Thunder and wind Clear water no longer calm Rock the bowl my boys -crumpf
shiney porcelain yellow rainfall, hinges creak Brah-Ha! stream ceases -crumpf	shiney shoes sits still one arm supports hunkered stance mind over bladder? -callen
at first just a drop engineer anal bleeding brah hah! brah! brah hah! -cakers	un-loud, clandestine hot dense cloud awakens tears flounder worries not -callen
toxic aroma malicious gas encroaching paint peeling off walls -cakers	with frantic motions hurried exit with breath held faces turning blue -cakers
familiar odor lightning strike to a shithouse how does it smell so? -cakers	bundy, groagan, turd and by any other name would still smell as sweet -cakers
massive flotilla poo and wet paper mountain tiny pipes are clogged -cakers	foul unholy deed birthed straight from the gates of doom a double flusher -cakers
too much anal sex the story told in horror tragic malformed poo -cakers	cheeks rattle and hum harmony then sudden stop must check for leakage -cakers
a dense fog descends pure and innocent lungs fill undeserved torture -cakers	like a snake it waits wrapped round and round the toilet coiled and sleeping -cakers

Some whiteboard art of the day by the artistic genius Rumpf:

rockstar

Positive Upbeat Winning Attitude

Carl is Zod

It all started a couple years ago. Rumpf, Carl and I all being engineers as well as amateur philosophers would discuss things. Nothing was out of bounds; nothing was sacred. Noone remembers who first brought it up, but once the observation was shared, the floodgates were opened. See, our office building consisted of several different companies, but all shared the same bathroom. Nobody could explain how or why by the end of the day, the disturbingly overutilized and disgruntled bathroom would look like a war zone. It wasn't unusual to find toilet paper, piss, old trade magazines and newspapers and yes, even poo all over the floors, the walls and everything in between. Our precious fortress of solitude was being tainted on a daily basis, in more ways than one.

The focus of our angst became clearer with every post-lunchtime visit to the bathroom: Mr. Shiny Shoes. No, Mr. Shiny Shoes wasn't just one unlucky person with intestinal distress. He was a figurative person representing the army of minions with whom we did daily bathroom battle. It was not unlike how street gangs use graffitti to mark their turf. Oh yes, it was a war... a war between our small team of engineer philosophers representing wholesome goodness and the evil insurance company minions who could be identified easily under the stalls by their shiny shoes.

You know the scenario all too well yourself, as you've undoubtedly been in the same situation. You enter the bathroom for a casual pee, and upon your first deep breath get a lungfull of acrid death, which sinks to the bottom of your lungs like lead. You pee quickly and quietly trying to minimize your exposure, but your soul has been forever scarred. Much like vanquished vampires, Mr. Shiny Shoes never behaves quite the same. Sometimes they sit quietly. Sometimes they thrive on the pain they are inflicting, letting forth additional aural and or olfactory evidence of their crimes. Mr. Shiny Shoes is joined in his army by "Lt. Leaning Wall Man", "Captain Flatulence", "General Piss-n-Dash" and the pervasive "Clearing Allergy Sinuses in the Sink Boy." Damn those shiny shoes. Damn them all.

Instead of resorting to violence, we reached for inspiration. What on the face of the earth could possibly match the harmony and joy of being the first person in the morning to relish the sanctity of a throne that the little Asian* janitor had cleansed with great care and meticulous attention to detail? What could possibly be so peaceful? What form of expression could match it's flowing grace, cool, glistening waters and positive energy? The haiku.

So it began: the harmonious marriage of poo and haiku. In a flurry of emails the storm of creativity was brought to full force, much like an ocean of flowers enjoying spring sunshine, or a thunderstorm raining upon parched earth. Kim was brought into the fold due to her love of all things poo. We all thrived and flourished under our new common bond. It was within the poo haiku and our very souls that we found true Zen. As quickly as it all began, the emails subsided. Much like a trip to the placid waters, the time for poo haiku zen had passed. Life must go on. Fortunately, the waters run deep, and the art has been preserved for your enjoyment. We hope it brings you peace and harmony as well.

* Our Janitor at the time was a very kind little Asian man with an incredible attention to detail and amazing persistence. Despite the daily trauma the bathroom sustained, he would ensure it's regeneration night after night. His dedication is what is important, not his culture or race.