Don't **** the Genie

Peg-leg Pete, the pirate, in the good old days of old;
found a sealed amphora, whilst searching for some gold.
The label bore a warning & a faded, scary skull
but Peg-leg Pete was curious & gave the **** a pull.

The bottle appeared empty, so he gave it quite a shake.
A rumbling, grumbling let him know – a genie was awake!
“You didn't ought to do that, you one-legged, one-eyed beast;
to someone who's been fast asleep, a hundred years, at least!”

The genie was so angry, like a bear, with a sore head.
“You'll only get one wish for that, so make it count.” he said.
“Only one!” poor Pete complained. “but I've just set you free.
I've got the very task though, that you can do for me.”

“Me owd peg-leg has woodworm & me glass-eye's on the blink;
me 'ooks gone rusty & me trusty ship's about to sink.
If you can make me whole again, one wish will be enough.
So, come on grumpy genie, shake a leg & do your stuff!”

“Make sure you word your wish exact, for there's no going back.”
The genie smirked, then got to work & everything went black.
When Pete came round, he quickly found his hook & peg-leg there
& underneath it's tatty patch, his glass-eye's icy stare.

“What trick is this, you scurvy dog, you've gone back on your word?”
“I think not Pete, just look around & see what has occurred.
Your ship is now a merchant & that warehouse on the dock.
It's yours, for import/export work – for honest trade old ****!”

Pete
“I don't get this, I'm still stood here,
like Ahab, off the whaler.”

Genie, smirking
“You asked me, quite specifically
to make you a whole-saler!”

Briz 5/11/13

Al Zymer

Big brown boots on  big white feet,
clomping down the busy street.
People stopping, people staring.
Why do they care what I'm wearing?

Rough hands grabbing, I'm confused.
Shouting, swearing – not amused.
Sensibility has gone.
The boots are all that I've got on!

“Quickly, get him off the street.
Wrap him in this orange sheet.
He's cold and wet, in all this rain.
Poor old lad, he's gone insane.”

Back to nursing-home I'm trundled.
Wrapped in foil and roughly bundled,
in a cot, where here I lie
Wishing I knew – how to die.

5/3/13

------------

Boobed!

One day, as she stepped from the shower,
a woman observed her reflection;
in the glass-panel door & decided
it was like a mirage – a deception.

She looked once again, disbelieving,
for the first time, in years, at her figure.
Her *******, once so firm - small & sagging:
her bottom  much wider & bigger.

In tears she approached her poor husband
as he sat, with a beer, watching telly.
”We've got to do something & quickly,
to alter my *****, *** & belly.

“We?” thought her husband, quite puzzled.
“What part does she want me to play?”
Not jogging together nor diets;
nor worse – having money to pay.

“I'm thinking of surgical implants,
to restore my poor, sagging *******.
They start from as little as four grand
& a little bit more,for the best.”

“As little as that.” he said softly,
staying calm, although inwardly choking.
“Give me time to consider.” he finished.
Thinking “*******, you've got to be joking.”

A long, restless night was to follow,
as he tossed & he turned, in his bed;
thinking hard of a cheaper solution,
'til a crazy plan entered his head.

He went to the bathroom, for loo-roll
and with it, he started to stroke her.
He kneaded & patted each *****,
quite gently, so not to provoke her.


“What on Earth are you doing?” his wife hissed,
as she looked, through her eyes, red & bleary.
“Be patient, dear petal.” he answered,
as he tried to explain his wild theory.

“This massage should enlarge your *******.
I'm sure they'll get bigger & plump.
You've used it for years, on your bottom
and look at the size of your ****!”

Briz 19/7/13

p.s.
If anyone has any questions,
regarding this story, I swear;
the husband will give you the answers,
when he's out of intensive-care!

-----