He is a good man, or at least once was. Outstanding in (s)wordplay, ideological volleys and follies, and falconeering. He excels in all matters of the body and mind, except one, and it is for this one that things have reached an impassable and troubling stalemate.
There is always poop present in his pants.
I have breached this tender subject many a time with him, even informing him that were he to rectify his rectum this problem would quickly be flushed away. But when the matter is discussed he flies into a rage, yelling, screaming, kicking, and excacerbating the already existing problem. In all my years of clinical work, it is a most unusual case, especially since he is so good at falconeering.
I will not grant him his release from "Poop Chi Minh City" as he denounces it, unless he himself will denounce his trousers of the fecal matter.
A most sad case indeed.
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