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I met a traveller from a toilet land,
Who said—“One vast and bowlless trap of stone
Stand in the guest bathroom. . . . Near them, on the tile.
Half sunk a shattered tank lies, whose handle,
And scratched lid, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its plumber well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The flapper that mocked them, and the valve that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is ButtTheShitmanFart, King of Kings;
Look on my Watercloset, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level tiles stretch far away.”
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May 6, 2020 17:53
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