Poo Fight: the Bold and the Flatulent

It turned out that no man ended the Poo War, and it
is conceivable that people even today might have gone
on pooing at one another and throwing the poo, but
at the end of the century, a terrible poo-virus
gripped the land and its people. Thus began the great
Poo-Vomitus War - a time when you could not trust a
man coming or going. While not a true end to the Poo
War, it did mark a change in the ordinary events and
scientists, anthropologists, and political theorists
speculate that it did indeed begin the dwindling of
interest so common in the peoples of warring factions
that leads to the termination of a conflict.
Perhaps this is no better embodied than in the last
words of Walter P. Freely, when roped upon the
executioner's rack, a whole regiment of bare asses
trained on him, and before leaving this world forever,
he stared down those goatee'd bungholes and spoke those
prophetic words that will live forever:
"Guys, why are we doing this?"
Perhaps no better quote from that time so handily identifies
and underlines the absurdity of the zeitgeist of that era,
that horrible phantom that we all felt but could not see,
could not hear, could not hope to understand in its vastness.
Even now I feel we could fall victim to its mysteries, for
even now, in the quiet and uneventful peace that we now
inhabit, who among us has not had the idea of farting a
poop at a family member, a loud-mouth, a drunken lout, or
even willy-nilly into a crowd. A horrible time, to be sure,
but those who lived it know the curious nostalgia that
comes over one when, at the zoo, or gazing at a serene
landscape, it crosses a man's mind that instead of this
quiet contemplative scene, there could be a big poo fight.
This is evidenced in the many holidays, such as the running
of the bulls in pamplona, or the great tomato fights in
Colorado or Spain; family-friendly reproductions of
scenes from a time when men were men, throwing poop, and
aggressing one another ass-first in a sort of charged crab-walk.
Now we return to our adventure of Pickle Homer and Bonky in their
final confrontation with Gaskill the Gourmond.

I have done things with poo that some would deem...
"unnatural" said Gaskill the Gourmond, squishing poops
in either hand, milking the poops.
No! Shouted Pickle Homer, you're supposed to be disgusted
with the poop! Not to enjoy or revel in it!
Aye, that is what the poop priests would have you believe,
but I have seen the true enjoyment of poop. I have cast
off the chains of shame, I have found the TRUTH behind the
poop wars, and that is that we LOVE poop. We LOVE throwing
the poop.
No! You're twisted! We hate the poop! We hate throwing
the poop! You're a liar!
Search your heart, young Pickle Homer.
Never! No! I hate poop! It's yucky!
Pickle Homer, agitated beyond reason, pooped into his hand
and flung it at Gaskill the Gourmond in a fit of passion
and the horrible Baron grabbed the poop out of mid-air
and stuck it in his mouth like a cigar.
NO! shouted Pickle Homer, THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!
Yes, grizzled Gaskill the Gourmond.
BONKY, DO SOMETHING!
Bonky sprang into action, and channeling the powerful yoga
of his guru, went into downward facing horse and showered
the baron with a mighty torrent of shit.
The mad baron laughed, but the cascades of shit did not
cease and soon he was overcome and buried in a great pool
of foul dung.
Thank goodness, said Pickle Homer. It is finished.
But the lips of the baron breached the pool of poop
and with a final gutteral gasp he spake dark words,
"this is how the war will end. only when we
have embraced the poop, shall we be free of it,"
and disappeared below, sending up his final bubbles,
never to be seen from again.
How horrible. This poor creature, twisted by war, should
remain a caution to all of mankind.
Though I do think something in his words were prophetic.
Still, we have the matter of escaping the baron's
keep. Let's get on with it.
So Pickle Homer and Bonky continued their search for an
escape when they came upon a lesser bedroom with a vanity
hutch and sumptuous decor and a great poofy bed set behind
gauzy curtains and therein they found the beautiful
Daughter of Gaskill, Glenda Gaskill.
"Out, you villains!" She called and blind-sided the lovestruck
Pickle Homer with a poop to the face.
Bonky could see it immediately, and shook his head and sighed,
for his friend was in love.
We are merely looking to escape with our lives, said Bonky.
Glenda Gaskill took pity on the poor wretches and said I
know of only one way to escape the fortress.
Bonky and then Pickle Homer bowed to the maiden. She then
led them to an adjoining chamber, but Pickle Homer, transfixed
by her charms, waited a moment before going on, and knelt down
to pick up the maiden's poop. He held it in his hands a moment,
admiring it, before sneaking a little kiss, and whispering to
his pet poop "I shall cherish you always."
The only way out is to crawl through the toilet into the sewers
and escape out the canals, the maiden presented them her potty.
NEVER! Shouted Bonky. To enter the sewers is to resign oneself
to the greatest of insults, it is to be pooped on by a thousand
men or more! Pickle Homer, if word gets out we suffered this
insult, we will be more than mere-mocked. People shall poop
at us with impunity, and we will not have the standing
to raise our voices in protest.
She's right, said Pickle Homer.
What???
She's right, Bonky. It is the only means of escape.
And you won't tell anyone, asked Bonky of the maiden.
She shook her head solemnly.
And you won't poop after us as we descend?
She won't, said Pickle Homer.
Very well. We shall go.
As it were, the maiden could not resist dropping a poop
down in the hole after them, but Pickle Homer was pleased
of it, and the horse-man and horse made their escape from
the poo-fort.