Once a dirty scout master from from Kent
Spent weekends round young boys in a tent
Now he’s locked up in jail
With no prospects of bail
Passed around cells at night, sphincter spent
I know I should be better than this.
Once a dirty scout master from from Kent
Spent weekends round young boys in a tent
Now he’s locked up in jail
With no prospects of bail
Passed around cells at night, sphincter spent
For what she was about to receive…such great bounty indeed!
Pyromaniac nympho called Linda
Took a lad home that she met on Tinder
Took some candles to bed
How he screamed as he fled
Burnt the poor fellows cock to a cinder
It’s just made up okay, for shits and giggles. Honest. Plus I get to use the dildo bike gif again.
Once a cyclist of note, name of Mike
Big old smile as he peddled his bike
Look of bliss on his face
For the seat he’d replaced
With a dildo, he really did like!
Feel free to use it if you know someone in need!
You poor thing, heard you’re feeling unwell
That it’s itching and starting to swell
Hope you feel well real soon
And it doesn’t balloon
And explode with a pungent vile smell
Well, well, well, what a conflagration of celebrations this is. Four years ago today I first penned something on WordPress and now I am here celebrating 2000 posts also.
2000. Yup, 2000!
Now if you’ve come to my blog more recently that might be a surprise, and I will admit I have not been particularly active the last year and a half, but regardless, what a fun ride it has been! ,
Now I know that lately it’s been a lot about limericks, some diet stuff and me meandering around Halifax with my dog but looking back at the post categories I realise just how eclectic the blog has been over the years.
There are hundreds of short stories and pieces of flash fiction, posts about comics and art, limericks and haiku a plenty, a smattering of moody poetry and there was even that kinda full book thingy I did that one month. Actually, I am quite proud of the 350000 words I have put to paper. There’s a big part of me on this blog. Mostly a rather twisted part, but a big part nonetheless.
Oh and the book, I published the book of limericks too didn’t I. And there was that time that I nearly accidentally ended up on the sex offenders list by showing a class of 9 years olds a detailed list of sexual fetishes. Remember that? Oh, how we laughed.
Those 2000 posts have helped me enjoy 1517 followers (though a lot seem to have become sadly inactive), 13000 comments, 30000 visitors, 76000 views, and rather a lot of new friends from a lot, but sadly not all, of the planet. Greenland continues to evade me, much to my constant frustration.
Anyway, so what have I learned I don’t hear you ask. Well, here you go. Pearls of wisdom for you…
So there you go, happy blog day to me and here’s to many years more of looking for interesting words that rhyme with ‘Fuck’. A huge thank you to all of you who have been here with me along the way and especially those who I feel I know particularly well after these 4 years.
Stay fabulous
Michael
x
One about a chap with a super hairy butthole. Because why the hell not.
A botanist, Daniel Mclarey
Had an anus, hirsute, super hairy
He would oft get it plucked
If he was to get fucked
But if not, overgrown, ’twas quite scary
For what she was about to receive…such great bounty indeed!
A Christian couple, just wed
Found themselves all alone on the bed
She went down on her knees
And he grinned “Oh yes please”
She said grace for such bounty, gave head
To those who followed me because I wrote about dieting. This is probably closer to the real me. Sorry 🙂
Sex mad divorcee, now, online dating
Swipes and clicks left her moist, salivating
A transvestite off Grinder
Sweating, grunting, behind her
Tinder twins in each hand, masturbating
In case you know someone who broke their dick and got them a card but were unsure what to write
Heard you slipped on some lube near the hearth
And your penis, my god, broke in half
Bent at 90 degrees
it’s quite tricky to please
Here’s a card, I tried hard not to laugh
words. mostly…
I remember it quite clearly
Pale sun painting frosted fields
And you at peace, to sadness yields
So many, loved so dearly
…
Butterscotch sweets in kilner jars
Full house, late nights, your Sunday roast
Full ashtrays I recall the most
What was, now framed like painted flowers
…
And years go by, the memories stronger
Each twisted branch still skyward growing
The things you handed down not knowing
That they would linger, loving, longer
…
And so the sequels spring to life
A library of stories new
And every one because of you
Mother, grandma, sister, wife
words. mostly…
When silver threads creak with first frost
And summer thought in mists are lost
I wonder if you’ll count the cost
Or blindly hide from reason
When nights bleed into shortened days
And stars no longer light your way
So willingly you choose to stray
and blindly protest treason
No one to watch, no one to keep
Your candle burning while you sleep
And memories sink into the deep
Lost in the cold, dark freezing
Your stories ink washed from the page
And meekly without pain or rage
The curtain falls on empty stage
At closing of your season
Dirty. But if you read it out loud in a posh english voice it could almost be poetic I guess…
What once were endless summer days, and tender nights not counted
Sweetest whispers, love unbridled, days drift by embraced
And 69 more ways your soft pink flesh was nightly mounted
And your skin glowed with the blush of love’s seed spilled upon your face
The heart quickened, loins wet, thickened, hair pulled, lost souls intertwined
Gimp mask, red room, 12 inch pseudo love meat, I am yours and you are mine.
So spent, we lay in sheets soiled with the remnants of our love
we fit like trains into a tunnel, like large hand into small glove
And when no lube can dampen, when blue pills can not revive
Will we shuffle from this mortal coil, our passions still alive
Somewhere far beyond these night time stars that we once watched together,
Shall our memories drift slowly into inky black forever
________________________
Oh come on, it’s saturday, why not do something a little different.
The first 2 lines and the last two are kind of sweet I think.
Happy weekend you cheeky monkeys!
All a bit rhymey but meh, it’ll do
He watches from his window, rain like tears runs down it’s face
Petals fall as summer fades, once golden face now stark and bare
To this cold earth, beneath the sun, they seep into the earth
Beauty lost, like memories, life’s end to once bright birth
From green to gold and amber his life turns with passing seasons
All alone, he waits for something lost, his mind forgets the reasons
Of what was and is no more, faces blur as time slips by
And in a blink like flowers turn to dust, and skies do cry
They mourn for him, the things he once held dear, like him are lost
Like petals, cold, beneath the earth, embraced by winter’s frost
He slips away and fades from thought like breath in winter’s air
When flowers bloom once more nobody knows he is not there.
Enjoy. Or don’t. But secretly do.
A vet from round our way quite smitten
By felines, especially kittens
He made two into hats
And a load into spats
Then the leftovers made into mittens
And with a religious theme
A fan of the clan, angry man
Had a son, tiny hands, orange tan
Lost a landslide election
Inspired insurrection
Lost his shit, got himself twitter ban
A kinda poem thingy but not about anything wholly inappropriate
I made for you a garden
From the stars I stole from cloudless skies
And deep within earth’s warm embrace
Sprung forth as tears streamed down your face
And quiet you sat in this place
And waited patiently
Each passing day under the skies
With hope, new shoots turned into bloom
And brightly shine when sunset falls
Until the light like beacon calls
These shards of nightfall, heart enthrals
From shadows setting free
And with the seasons turning, living
Pass full circle, gold to green
Hearts warmed by light unwavering
And beauty bright, sweet savouring
Sweet tears of heaven favouring
Forever comforts thee
Merry Christmas, or happy whatever you celebrate …have a lovely day!
A purveyor of filth, Nicky Klaus
A whoremonger, purveyor of whores
With his huge bulging sack
And his craving for crack
And a leather clad spank on all fours
Think this could have been better but I need to get the eldest out of bed and go to the tip…Happy Monday!
I tore the pages from the book
that holds the story of our lives
of darker times that might have been
and in their place I wrote these words
my promises to you.
Not to forget each day to live
and love and laugh and treasures mine
to hold most dear and know their worth
and thanks with grateful heart I give
all that I have to you.
When sunset paints with flames of red
the words we wrote on pristine page
We loved though time will pass us by
as stories gather dust upon
life’s shelf where now we lay.
Words and more words and more words still…
Silver wisps of memories
The things that once so brightly shone
Now gone but one alone remains
Which fight the pull of time, refrains
From slipping through soft fingers
Clasped in prayer, in silence lingers
On that vision of her beauty, sweet
Her countenance so kind and meek
And one last time her forehead kisses
Always misses all they were and sunset burns
Like furnace flames
He smiles
And says goodbye
Just because why not
A God fearing couple were waiting
Until marriage before consummating
He prayed “Give me strength please”!
And he fell to his knees
His unused testicles fast inflating
One about boobs
A large breasted hooker, Celeste
Did declare that her breasts were the best
Local chaps were invited
And the prospect excited
To put her proud claims to the test
Why the devil not eh.
Devout young chap met each Thursday
Buxom wench who would service the clergy
She would take off her nickers
For Priests, Imams and Vicars
And enable arousing liturgy
Words and more words and more words still…
Time steals the sweetest memories
Those moments where we wished that she’d
Halt in her tracks and carve emotions into stone
Forever monuments to love
Where, in later days we’d celebrate
That which was and now still is
But cruel she marches unrelenting
And halo slips, becomes a noose around the neck
As envy’s eye looks greedily on summers long ago
These barren lands, unfertile soil where only sadness grow
And dreams they whither on the vine as winter steals
The very breath that spoke you name
These lips once red now bare the pale of death’s caress
Eyes closed I fall to his embrace
and beg he take these memories
And cast them into the abyss
Bloody hell that’s nasty
A drug loving hooker, Petunia
For five bucks, with a strap on, would ruin ya’
But worse, her Sister Beth
Would gave hand jobs for meth
Take a dump on your chest and then spoon ya
Sorry. Hope youre not having breakfast…
A horny young lad from Korea
69ing, though had diahhorea
In the midst of the fun
Felt a stir in his bum
Filled his partners mouth, nose, eyes and ear