A shortage of sheiss

A Shortage of Sheiss by J.B. Pravda

Torkelbein the Extreme Elder sat in his laboratory, the
arch-practitioner of the alchemists' art; over the course of his
legendary career, he had countless times filled the treasuries of
monarchs with gold, fashioned from the basest elements, but, still, he
was frustrated, 'bottled-up', as it were, as kingdoms far and wide
bombarded him with desperate pleas for his services, but this time for
the most perverse of undertakings-------his servant read aloud from the
latest of a series of such: "Esteemed master, our country dies for lack
of foodstuffs, unscrupulous hacks, having stolen your techniques, have
converted anything they could find to gold, including our now far more
precious manure&;#8230;.."------------as he held up his hand
motioning the servant to stop, he began to weep: 'You see, I am
useless, ready for death, as they all will die, despite all their
wealth&;#8230;&;#8230;.I only wish I could, with all my powers
and knowledge, somehow do as they ask&;#8230;..and make
shit&;#8230;.but, you see, I can't even pee, what with this engorged
prostate, Oh, vey! I feel like shit, but, alas, I cannot do it.