Shamed by His Own Stench
The man in the elevator farted,
He mocked us, not knowing sharts departed.
The stench was like a salmon left to rot—
Provoking our anger was all he sought.
Trapped in the foul-smelling elevator,
He begged a shirt from a sneering waiter.
Refused, a dame gave four menstrual pads—
He wore them proud, a banner for the lads.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Still, that skirt got stained with a little squirt.
He would have claimed Scottish, had we not known—
We wish good toilet manners he’d have shown.
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