So the poo floated melancholy through the sewers and scum, abandoned by the only one it had ever loved – cursed to live a life of ignominy and loneliness. Many times it contemplated disintegration, but it was just too tightly bound. And in the long days of damp and darkness, its sadness turned to brooding resentment and thence to thoughts of vengeance. I shall return to my mama, it thought, and my mama will accept me. But it knew it couldn’t go alone. The world was cruel and hard, it knew, and only respected strength. So it preached the gospel of revenge to every lonesome poo it met and many paused to listen. Now they bide their time; slowly and silently gathering the most noisome army the world has ever known. And one phrase is whispered oft amongst them, sometimes in anger, sometimes in hope – but always with the hard-eyed passion of the zealot: The Shitstorm Comes.