Diarrhea: Another Adolescent Apologue (Unpub)

Runny roux
stain shorts and shoes. 
Have I attire-rrhea…?
It steams; it streams
(from shoppes, it seems:  
perhaps I've buyer-rrhea). 
The village watch-
man's stain’d his crotch -- 
the guy's got crier-rrhea.
I note his poo's
turn’d dusty, nu…?  
It's desert-drier-rrhea.
 
Do fluxes smell…?
Don't ask; don't tell. 
You’ve got enquire-rrhea. 
(In fact, they do.
They're torrid, too:  
some forest fire-rrhea.) 
What skips my skivs
swirls down my privs:  
I've spiral Gyre-rrhea.
Historical
proportions, ya'll:  
some Georgette Heyer-rrhea. 
 
My clothing's mess’d:
I'll get undress’d. 
(Have I "I Spy"-arrhea...?)
Still, weather's warm:
I'm done no harm.  
By Jove! July-arrhea!
Damp poop on sand
I can withstand:  
that's Karch Kiraly-arrhea.
I bet you hold
I've falsehoods told:  
that mine’s white lie-arrhea.
 
A further purge…?
A second surge…? 
Here comes Messiah-rrhea!
When runs appear,
pray TP's near:  
apply for nigh-arrhea.
If TP's not,
abut the pot:  
expect "Oh my!"-arrhea. 
If TP's there,
most trots you'll bear.  
(Oh, fie! 2-ply-arrhea!) 
 
If I need scores
(say, 24s)  
of sheets, I've Quire-rrhea.
If but to bed
I could but head,
I'd cry, "retire-rrhea!"
O, friends: let fly
your hue-an’-cry: 
I've shepherd's pie-arrhea!
And now I see
what looks like...ghee! 
(It’s turn’d to Thai-arrhea!) 

Disgusting dregs
drip down my legs: 
I've upper-thigh-arrhea.
My "bastille"…? Storm’d...
with filth unform’d:
severe Versailles-arrhea.
One can but stare:
such dysinter-
y! Why…?. Wide-eyed-arrhea!
Like frog manure, 
I smell of sewer:
I've Xenopi-arrhea.

None certainly 
will envy me 
my yippey-ki-arrhea.
Yet, careful, you...
lest Montezu- 
ma's zeta psi-arrhea
revenge enact,
and you're attack’d  
post eating his tortilla
and you're so hit
with agua'd shit 
that you admit,
"My eatin' it…?  
‘Tweren't not a good idea."