The Shiznit Has Hit The Faznan

To round out our poopy-post trifecta, our doody hat trick, I bring you last night's tale of intrigue.

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This is the Mansion the Farmer built
This is the mouse
That pooped in the light
That lay in the ceiling the Farmer built

This is the light
That filled up with poop
That looked just like bugs
That lay in the exhaust fan the Farmer built

This is the trap
That held peanut butter
That held the cheese
That lay in the trap that the Farmer built

This is the snap
That broke the neck
That held on the head
That lay on the tiny carcass clamped in the trap that sat in the light that ran the exhaust fan that lay in the ceiling that covered the master bath that lay in the Mansion that Farmer built.

This is the Farmer, flushing the pot
That sucked down the mouse that the Farmer caught
That pooped in the fan when the light made it hot
That had quickly filled up with the poop, quite a lot
That looked just like bugs, so black was each dot
That over this sight HM and Farmer fought
That worried the sons
That worried the Farmer
That trapped the mouse
That slid down the pipes that the Farmer built

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Who knew mice were flushable? Not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Not her mother. But, apparently, The Pony. Who declared, "It's really no different than a goldfish going down."