Fear and constipation in Croydon city central
The sun is shining in Croydon today.
But down in my large intestines there's a veritable tempest a brew.
For I, dear sirs, am constipated. Incorrigibly so.
I feel like I've been fisted by Frank fucking Bruno.
And as I sit here, in my office, amid some 30 colleagues — most of whom would be startled into the fetal position should I dare cock a deft buttock perchance to permeate the air with rectal gas — I can't help but ponder the events which are bound to ensue this afternoon.
For I have just imbibed a liberal quota of Lactulose. And promises of an imminent explosion of the anus have been made.
So I wait with bated buttocks...
I fear this building will shortly be reduced to rubble.
Watch this space.