Flush your mouth

I'm realizing the title of this blog might be a turn off to people who don't know what it means. You see the word "poop" and your mind goes in the gutter (or the toilet). It was never supposed to be crude, but maybe it's time for a change.

I don't even know if I ever properly explained the title. The Sunday Night Poop was something plebes (at one time this was me) memorize at West Point. It is recited on Sunday nights, when you're in formation, about to face another fun packed week. I hate Sundays and have for as long as I can remember. It's not that work is so awful, it's that your time to yourself to do what you want is ending until Friday night.

Shouted out it goes like this:
Six bells and all is well.
Another week shot to hell.
Another week in my little gray cell.
Another week in which to excel.
Oh, hell.

See? I told you it wasn't crude.

I even changed the title for a moment, but it didn't look right.

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