Rufuz Puts Out Some Hellacious Farts…

When Rufuz farts,

It isn’t pretty,

They do more than clear the room,

They sound like that of a sonic boom,

And reek like that of death from a tomb.

You can’t feed Rufuz certain snacks,

As they are the reason for these attacks,

He, of course, doesn’t realize what he is doing,

Or just maybe he does,

As he runs away and hides in dad’s room,

To seemingly escape the coming of this fume.

I really hesitate to turn on the heater,

When Rufuz is in this kind of condition,

As any spark could ignite that which he has exhumed,

From the deepest and most smelly regions,

          Of his internal bathroom. 

The cloud he expels,

Does seem to loom,

And while I cannot keep this camper heated,

It seems to retain these fumes,

As if they are like a cigarette-smoke filled room.

The only way to dispel this horror,

Is to allow the camper to air out,

Windows open, even in dead of winter,

Heater off, so as to let the smog blow out,

But pity those that live close by,

For they are to receive a Christmas present,

Of tumultuous proportions,

But better them, than me…

             Hee-hee!

                                       (ed)