23:22pm. Home turf

The awful sounds had been my stomach absolutely rejecting the dry coco pops it had been fed for dinner. It groaned and twisted violently as I pelted the pops one by one against the porcelain. The ricochets were invasive and blasted back through my legs and onto the floor, via my chin and lips. It was an overwhelmingly bitter taste and had kept none of the chocolatey flavour. Like poor Joe Pasquale the pops had been poo’d from their anal womb with any likeability or reason for existing already removed, and yet still taking the form of a puffed up grain of rice. Disappointment aside the pellets had battered my rear end and left me grazed and somewhat hungry, after the acrid appetiser. I would eat, so that I may poo again.

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