Thursday baby yeah!
Lonely farmer confessed one day when boozing
To arousal when livestock perusing
He would moan in his sleep
Dreams of round bottomed sheep
Mornigns wake up quite sticky and oozing
it’s somethign I guess…well actually not really…meh…
It seems that there are those that will, and I think it’s a farce,
but people (per the internet) do hide things in their arse.
I’m told (though not seen it myself for I share my PC
with kids) so cant research it but if I did I would see
Ripe marrows place in darkest holes, and veges by the barrow
inserted, lubed and with great force, pushed into bottoms narrow.
Digits, midgets, varied widgets placed where sun shines not
a friend of mine vanished a vase when on it she did squat.
This bloke from Scotland, cavernous, spread wide, bent to receive
the contents of Old Nick’s full sack when drunk on Christmas eve.
And I did read a tale of woe of one lad who took pleasure
dressed as a pirate placed gold coins inside like hidden treasure.
A story told of one young chap one night when feeling fruity
filed down a tooth bruch, electric type, to place inside his booty.
But not outdone a lass invited several chaps to sample
her gaping hole but it turned out that just the two were ample…
Things stuck inside, spread open wide, or isides falling out
each to their own, and when at home, I really have no doubt
that there are those who cant recall, have lost things, or forgotten
I might suggest they might just be lodged inside your bottom.
Seems I wrote one…
You can read about the WHY here…but it’s out there. 300 of my finest limericks. Currently trending at number 359 in the limericks category on Amazon!
After a few people have read it I am probably about ready to admit I am kinda proud of it now. 🙂
Paperback in the UK is here
And in the US here
There are ebook versions too.
A thing about someone and a thing. Mostly.
Once a fellow a young lass was wooing
Did a fart and alas started pooing
Weel, so much for discreet
Soiled his pants in the street
And it dripped from his pant leg, foul viewing
Mostly just rhymey lines of stuff
If time will tell of darkest deeds
Succumbed to burning wants and needs
And how for love she gladly bleeds
Hunger unfulfilled she feeds.
And in those moments laid quite bare
She spirals skywards through the air
And soars like morning clouds most fair
Unbridled without thought or care.
Lips blood red and wild unleashed
A lovers tale between the sheets
Where love and lust at crossroads meets
To bliss succumb and love most sweet
Something nasty as were just about half way to weekend!
Once a mistress on more she insisted
Wanted love not just sex, dark and twisted
Tenderness, love, respect
Instead anus, quite wrecked
As her fellow her bottom rough fisted
They say confession is good for the soul but bad for the reputation.
I wrote here about things I am not good at. Mostly to do with towels.
Anyway, turns out I dont know one superfood from the other either.
It is school holidays at the moment so I’m mostly spending time with the boys, not doing a lot but enjoying it nonetheless. So we sit down and we are watching something on netflix and for whatever reason they serve up a serving of quinoa. I believe it is pronounced Keen-wah.
Well I believe it now but until yesterday I had no bloody idea that is the same as that quinoa (Kwinoah?) stuff I force down my face when I am feeling particularly fat.
I honestly had no idea. I mean one look at me abnd you’ll understand that I am don’t have a heavy keenwah intake but for whatever reason the fact just avoided me and I thought they were seperate things.
I told the family and they all laughed their arses off at me. Even the 14 year old who’s brain only works between 11 and 2 each day and who is currently obsessed with knives and fire.
They then reminded me that until perhaps 8 years ago I had no idea that the spike in the end of an ointment cap is used to pierce the film lid. Up until then I tended to use the outer prong of a fork though this did often result in something of a premature ointment explosion.
I reminded them that they were all garbage human beings and the 11 year old blonde one, fond of his facts and a bit of a know it all, ceased laughing most heartlily when I reminded him that he still couldn’t ride a bike and he better hope his hair darkens before he gets older because blonde haired male adults are just weird and creepy.
I wanted to say he would look like like a kiddy fiddler but showed some restraint when Mrs Afterwards gave me the look.
The even came to an abrupt end and we all had an early night after I suggested they eat my backside. I know, wrong on so many levels and I know I ought to be ashamed of myself.
I blame it on the lack of keenwah in my diet…
These battles played out on the streets….
These battles played out on the streets
For heart and soul, beneath the sheets
And words they spill, lips full of rage
And like blood spill onto the page.
Our what might be
And blinded, clambering to see
The path not taken, setting free
And time will tell, and roads will wind
As shrouded pasts are left behind
That what could be
Those sweetest of tomorrow’s
Like stars beyond my reach …
Like stars beyond my reach those thoughts of you
slip through my fingers to my feet
head bowed faintest recollections blown like sand
I’m left here on this precipice.
Here in the darkness looking out
and fire burns on horizon distant
blood red, golden on my face
One last time wind whispers your name
Hey you. Yes, you…
A vigourous jerker from Kent
Found his penis one morning quite bent
Many years of abusing
Always left hand twas using
Left him crooked, lopsided, when spent
A glimpse of April through my camera
Not really. It just rhymed so…well you know how it goes. It’s a bit clumsy but…meh. It’s something.
Our babysitter, mum’s brother Remus
had a rather large, quite hairy penis
As kids I’d share a bath
with my brother, such a laugh
and my uncle would climb in between us
One of these?
At night he whispers sweet reminders
of how it felt, quite swept along.
Returning tides compelled, jump in,
strong currents have their way.
And beaches red at sunset burn
as she returns to land once more
and on her lips his promise lingers
salt stained on her skin.
Until tides turn and whispers fade,
sepia tinged her longing rests
and deep she sighs, sea at her back
and smiling turns away.
The end is nigh!
I’m away in the van out Flanborough way for a few days with the boys and within 5 minutes of arriving the sky turns into something I imagined would surely herald the end of the world.
I got the tent out that fixes to the van but hastily packed it away as there was no chance of getting it up before the storm arrived.
More to follow but just lying awake rather early due to my snoring, flatulent children and my most urgent bladder…
Next time…less beans…
You’re gone, and then you’re back again You’re back, and then you’re gone Reduce your words by lacking pen The hourglass you fractured then But swirling grains of you, I’ve seen before, they never linger long You’re smiling, and then you frown You’re laughing, then you cry Reduce your presence and your sound I search […]
Read it damn it. Read all of his stuff!
It is Monday after all. Just about. It just about rhymes. Kinda.
An adventurous lassie from Derry
To her boyfriend: “Take my anal cherry”
Though he gagged on the fruit
Of her unwashed poop chute
Not to mention it was rather hairy
Just a few libnes…I’m off to bed.
Should I ever turn and find you gone
and memories are all I have
then each as treasure I would hold
each precious as the next.
Each sweet caress and gentle word
heart racing at your touch
and incomplete I recollect
each morning by your side.
For time and tide may senses dull
diminished may I be
you shine as bright as summer sun
and home is where I find you still.
You’d think I would have given up by now wouldn’t you…
Once this bloke I know works in a kitchen
Sausage got his aroused, he was itching
For a night of rough sex
But by morn was most vexed
As his anus was torn and needs stitching.
This is one I did for linda that I will not post here but please go see her and follow her because she is fab. Do it!
Okay so perhaps a work in progress title but it got your attention I am sure. Just in one of those moods 🙂 Sorry. Kinda.
Were I at last to recognise the thing that we became
The thorny, bristling, spite filled rage
That spews from me onto the page
And like so many through the age,
At last I give it name.
My not again, my what the fuck, my who the hell was I
Quite compromised, unrecognised
And like those fools, philosophised
That I was there, just drowned by lies
And watched as life passed by.
And then, unshackled, this my thought
Regret no more, not turning back
And craving not the things I lack
now place your lips upon my sack
And kiss them like you ought.
One I wrote for linda…
Prog 886 11 May 1994
Not shown you any of this for a while have I.
I think perhaps I have too much of this art work lark because I found this behind the couch and have no idea when I bought it. The couch is about two years old so I guess I have a rough time frame.
Pretty stuff though. Acetate overlay on four pages of ‘Baberace 2000’ written by Mark Millar and drawn by Anthony Williams with lettering courtesy of the wonderful Ellie deVille. Glorioustically stylistice and so very of it’s time and it remainsl so wonderfully vibrant even after 25 years.
Ive just realised I have another Anthony Williams piece on the wall next to me where I am sat. I will have to show you that another time becasue it is a rather special piece indeed.
Stay well away. You have been warned.
Friend of mine met a girl, dating started
Shit himself when he thought he’d just farted
He was out on a date
Though it turned out quite great
Coprophiliac, got her legs parted
Not sure what a coprophiliac is? Google it. Dare you.
Actually it reminded me of these from years ago…
A rude one about a woman and her need for a particularly large penis.
A cavernous lass, quite pedantic
who insisted on cocks most gigantic
No nine inchers for her
(unless girth) she don’t care
Only upwards of twelve get her frantic