SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

The Song Challenge:   Lost your 'Olympic' spirit? Here's a little story that should help to inspire all of us to 'go for the gold' . . . So, Go For It Challenge!rs!!   Thirty contestants from around the globe recently gathered in London for the second annual round of the Official World Dung Spitting Championships. CNN's Amanda Kibel was there to witness the 'action':   "It might not be the most physically demanding sport in the world, but mentally, it's a real challenge. All you need, say competitors, is a good lung capacity, limber lips, a strong mind and stomach, and a prime pellet of animal dung. The aim of the game is simple: overcome the resistance to placing the dung in your mouth and then, spit it out.   The all-important dung selection is first, and the competition was fierce for pieces of the finest droppings, gathered on a game farm in Africa, yielded by the Kudu, a small deer-like animal. And clearly, not just any old dung will do. A worthy pellet must be firm, not crumbly, and preferably, not too fresh.   As the first training session unfolded, interest from some passersby was high, but controversy dogged this competition from the start. One woman passerby commented, "You're spitting! And there's a rule about spitting in this country.  There is, there's a bylaw about spitting."   The games must go on. Competition day dawned, and competitors embarked on the vital warm-ups (gulping large portions of golden ale and dark stout). Mouths well lubricated, they spit their best, but in the end, it's a sudden-death playoff.   The Dungmeister, the reigning champion, the man who, in the past, has spat a mighty ten meters, faces off against an unknown, a rank outsider! A new champion is born, and he pays tribute to his technique: "I use the little pointed end (of the dung) towards the back. That seems to work."   But it takes more than just technique. Dung spitters say that what it's really all about is a simple case of mind over waste matter."

A Shitty Poem by Whoflungpoo (aka Dharmabum)

Dharmabum's Comments:  Ain't it amazing how fast we can come up with songs about shit? 

You've heard about the goodwill games, 
Where every one's a sport, 
Well grab a glass and park your ass, 
Cause this story ain't too short. 

There is a game that's gaining fame, 
It's running rampant through the nation, 
Where you stand and spit little balls of shit, 
It's called Projectile Defication. 

Now the games are held in Londontown, 
Where spitting loogies is illegal, 
But on this one day it is OK, 
For the spitting of the fecal. 

30 men all gathered round, 
They were men all stout and hearty, 
As the sun rose high into the sky, 
The air smelled kind of farty. 

First up was a Scottish lad, 
20 feet he shot his dung, 
He smiled north and south as he wiped his mouth, 
And said "it pays to have a pipers lung". 

Next up was an Irishman, 
Like a batter to the plate, 
The poo flew like a B 52, 
He said "now I've gotcha mate". 

Then walked up an Asian lad, 
From Japan I heard them say, 
To represent his homeland, 
On that sunny London day. 

Without a word he spit that turd, 
That dung it went a flyin, 
It sailed for nearly 30 feet, 
I swear that I ain't lyin. 

He rinsed his mouth with a can of ale, 
Said "Osaka is the name" 
Then he spit to clear the shit, 
And out came a bright blue flame. 

Competition went all afternoon, 
Each one still farther more, 
Until up walked a scrawny lad, 
Who came from a distant shore. 

Said "I'm here today from the USA", 
"To take the crown back home", 
"But I don't spit little balls of shit", 
"You see I've brought my own". 

With that he reached into his bag, 
And prepared for the next round, 
In a word it was an elephant turd, 
And it weighed about a pound. 

He slowly walked up to the line, 
This day he beamed with pride, 
The other men took one step back, 
The women and children ran to hide. 

He stood there with his eyes closed shut, 
He was deep in contemplation, 
"If only I can pull this off", 
"I'll be the hero of my nation". 

He took one last deep cleansing breath, 
And let go with a smile, 
It shot out with a rockets force, 
And flew more than a mile. 

The crowd it cheered it whooped it yelled, 
He was the victor for his nation, 
They said you are the one to wear, 
The crown of defication. 

Now when he came to Londontown, 
He felt just like a zero, 
But now he's on his way back home, 
To wear the crown of a great hero. 

Now It's absurd to think an elephant turd, 
Could fly more than a mile, 
And if you ask him how it's done, 
He'll just look at you and smile. 

And say "It's no big secret", 
"It's all mind over matter", 
"You see, if you don't mind the taste" 
"It really doesn't matter". 

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