The pooetry chapbook Doodooality: Shots Fired from Uranus is about The Fecalarity, an event where human excrement becomes sentient. Fed up with the hubris of mankind, the sophont turds resettle in Uranus. The work of San Francisco karaoke metal band NypSlyp, Doodooality is constructed as a parody of a concept metal album.

Doodooality: Shots Fired from Uranus contains steaming hot pooetry by the ass-tonishingly talented highly ass-steamed NypSlyp, comprised of Sumiko “Dooky” Saulson defecating on the microphone, Emily “Skunkheart” Flummox putting the stank on air guitar, and Mr. Backup (known for his creamy mudslides) crapping out the backup vocals. A juicy collection of limmershits, rectumic, iambic pootameter, haipoo, and loose stool pooetry, our splatterpoop hit Doodooality can be found in bathrooms everywhere.

Check what 2x Bram Stoker Award winning poet Angela Yuriko Smith said about Doodooality!

“Doodooality: Shots Fired from Uranus is a chaotic, joyful, fully committed plunge into the absurd as a metal-karaoke fever dream where poetry, parody, and pure bathroom anarchy collide. This collection doesn’t tiptoe around its premise; it sprints into it face-first, skid-marks and all. Here, sentient feces rise to cultural prominence, philosophers argue about dingleberry diplomacy, and every page asks you to surrender to the sheer audacity of it all.

This isn’t shock for shock’s sake. It’s humor as rebellion. It’s community art that refuses to conform. It’s science fiction, satire, and scatology smashed together and set on fire, backed by a band whose members have names like Dooky, Skunkheart, and Mr. Backup. And yes, somehow, it works.

Between the limmershits, the iambic pootameter, the ass-trological signs, and the haipoo paired with gloriously unhinged photographs, this book reminds us that art doesn’t have to be polite to be intentional. Sometimes the most honest thing we can do is laugh so hard we cry… or shart ourselves.

If you want a collection that pushes every boundary, breaks every rule, and proudly tracks mud, or something, across the clean floors of poetry, this is it. Hold your nose. Open your mind. And dive in.”