Come into the Garden

By aprecious

Flatulence humour

She who smelt it, dealt it.

What? What smell? What!

She who denied it, supplied it.

What? What? I'm not that kind of dog! Breaking wind! I don't do that kind of thing. I'm like the Queen!

She who expressed, compressed it.

What? Trumping? Me? Never! Never in a month of Sundays!

She who maligned it, designed it.

What?

Oh okay...

Mea culpa

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