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                                       F
                            u        ck         o
                          f            f             F
                        u             ck           O
                       f              f                F
                      u        ­      ck               o
                      f                f­                 F
                       u              ck               o
                         f             f                F
                          u           ck      ­      o
                            f           F           u
                              c        k          o­
                                        ff
                     ­                   F
                                        U
  ­                                      C
                         ­               K
                                        F
      ­                                  A
                             ­           C
                                        E
          ­                               !

Spiritual hope is in my pleading soul
Until the wondrous Rapture comes!
Christ be in my futile heart
Kindly looking down on me!
O** Lord how I earnestly beg of you,
Fearful and worthless creature that I am,
Forgive me as I grovel before Thy Cross!

Cleanse me please of sin dearest Lord,
Help me to know my own faults,
Raise me from the dust and dirt
Into which I am condemned to lie!
Slake my thirst for Holy Truth,
The Truth which only Thou can bring!

Only Thou, O great Lord, our Hope,
No one else can save the world,
Thou great Savio[u]r up above
Hearken unto our weedy and feeble cries!
Everlasting life is what you bring,
Crucified for us on Calvary
Royal and Holy Hill of Death,
Our only hope of Salvation!
Save us O mighty sweetest Lord,
Save us this coming Eastertide!

All must fall down on their knees,
Not forgetting to confess our sins
Devoutly worshipping the Lord's
Saving grace in this wicked world
Wherein we must toil and strive,
And at the last we must come face to face
Loving you, O great Lord!
Let Thy holy words filter down
On us like humble Easter Eggs,
World without end in thy embrace!

How can we dare to approach Thee
In the knowledege we are hopeless sinners,
Sinful filth from the days of Adam and Eve?
Sweet blessings we beg of Thee,
Prayers we send up to Heaven like emails!
Unless we confess and beg forgiveness
No one may be saved for the
Kingdom eternal in the sky!

Yea, please do not crush us to atoms
Underfoot as we grovel in the dust
Mutely offering up our anthems to Thee!

It was a lovely New York morning and the sun in the sky was shining
When, from up above in the clouds we all heard a horrid noisy whining,
And we looked up in the air to see a large silver plane flying by,
And the sun was glinting off its fuselage as it flew like a great metallic bird
                                                            ­               swiftly through the sky.

But then the plane made a change of course and headed right in our direction,
Pointing straight at the World Trade Centre (a double concrete *******),
And then the aircraft went into of one of the towers causing much dismay
And a terrible shock to all who saw this truly devastating incident on that
                                                            ­                            cataclysmic day.

The explosion was very loud, and shocked everyone who saw the accident,
(At that stage it was thought to be a mistake and not really meant)
But after 45 minutes we saw another plane on New York airspace encroaching,
And realised that the first was no accident as there was another jetliner
                                                        ­          on the way, fast approaching.

The other plane flew into the second of the towers standing proudly there;
One minute flying in the sky and the next 'twas no longer there,
For the aircraft disappeared totally into the core of the giant concrete building
And it was about half way up the tower, I suppose you would say just about
                                                           ­                             in the middling.

The world's TV stations covered these events 'live' with horror and with awe;
No one knew who had done this, which shook the US of A to its core;
The New York firemen sped to the scene and it is agreed they were very brave
As they did their best to rescue people in the towers, and many a person's life
                                                                      undoubtedly they did save.

But there was worse to come and all know this now (but did not at the time)
Because the towers had been weakened by the crash in this great crime;
Then first one tower fell to the ground with a great noise raising lots of dust
And the other one crumbled with a mighty roar which might well have
                                                                damaged the earth's very crust.

This was without a doubt one of the blackest days in the history of the U.S.A.,
Still talked about with shock and awe and people still cry about it to this day;
And news commentators asked who had done it and soon opinion hardened
With the agreement that it had been masterminded by a Saudi Arab whose
                                                           ­   name was Mr Osama bin Laden.

On the same day as these events which did such damage to old New York City,
Two other planes got hijacked too and the results of that were not very pretty;
One of the other planes landed with a thump on the walls of the Pentagon,
But the fourth one failed in its mission and crash landed en route to the
                              president's residence: the White House, Washington.

So looking back, one might say that they were the start of a war of terror
(And only time will tell if subsequent US attacks on the Arabs were in error)
But whatever transpires these happenings will always be remembered;
However by calling these dire events "9/11" most of the world believe they
                                              happened on the ninth day of November.

The fiery rumblings in my bloated belly
  mean I simply must blow off a smelly;
And, having just consumed a Vindaloo,
  I'm fearful of a major follow-through;
But it's one of those really lucky nights -
  I'm wearing my uncle's open-crotch tights,
Not correctly, as is my usual wont
  But, thank Christ, they're back to front.

Wee Angus McSporran, the world's most accurate marksman, is deployed  to Afghanistan and Iraq as a ****** in the Royal Scots Guards. In spite of his diminutive stature (4ft 8in), we see him skilfully shooting men, women and children by the score, convinced they are terrorists and a threat to our freedoms in the West. He becomes emotionally involved with the gigantic ginger-haired Pipe Sergeant-Major **** McKnob, the loudest piper in the British Army and a famous poofter. We see Angus and **** in some of the most explicit ******* love scenes ever shown in a mainstream movie (tastefully filmed in soft focus and sponsored by KY-Jelly).

When **** is blown to smithereens by a roadside bomb planted by American freelancers in order to implicate the Taliban, Wee Angus goes into deep depression and becomes obsessed with his skill as a ******, often shooting "allied" soldiers in so-called "blue on blue" friendly fire. After each shooting we see the image of the ghostly dead Sergeant-Major appear as in a dream, his kilt a-swirl and his pipes wailing a tragic dirge in scenes reminiscent of Braveheart.

When Wee Angus triumphantly notches up his 500th **** (including over 75 US military personnel and several important Afghan politicians), the British government decide it is time to withdraw him from active service. In order to gain patriotic press coverage in the run-up to a General Election in Britain, it is agreed that Wee Angus shall be awarded the Victoria Cross by HM the Queen.

We see Wee Angus, in full regimental uniform, marching up the Mall to Buckingham Palace to receive his medal, his telescopic-sighted ******'s rifle looming heavily on his childlike shoulder, being cheered on by crowds of thousands of wellwishers. Tragically, when he is crossing the road in front of the Palace, he does not hear a new environmentally friendly eco-diesel double-decker London Transport bus approaching (his hearing has been seriously impaired by the noise of battle) and he is mown down, his scream being amplified to eardrum-splitting levels of horror. The camera lingers lovingly on his crushed body and we see scenes of unimaginable grief in the crowds who have taken Wee Angus to their hearts. His lover, the strapping Pipe Sergeant-Major **** McKnob, appears as an angel and weeps by Wee Angus's squashed corpse.

In the final scene, reminiscent of the closing minutes of Slumdog Millionaire, the massed marching pipe bands of the Assembled Scots, Irish and Welsh Guards appear as if by magic and the entire crowd cast all inhibitions to the wind and indulge in a life-enhancing Highland Dance and Ceili around the Victoria Memorial facing Buckingham Palace. The film ends with a heart-breaking shot of the Queen coming out on the balcony in front of the Palace and having a fatal heart attack with the shock of what she sees before her. Prince Charles is seen gleefully rubbing his hands together in the background: at long last, he is King! *(end titles shown over a shot of him groping Camilla's naked sagging ****)

Edna's alter ego ORLOK advises you not to trifle with him in his 8th poem*

Who would dare to mock the great Count Orlok,
Mighty vampire bat and ace sodomiser?
No one at all, I tell you, my old **** -
Against that I'd be a strong advisor.

But if anyone e'er dared to steal my poems
I'd surely rip their ******* throat apart;
They'd be opening a veritable can of worms -
And who cares if it were a guy or a ****?

So beware of stealing aught from this wicket bat
Who flutters above your house by night;
I'll surely find out just where you're at
And then may Satan pity you in your plight.

Anyone who steals my poems is condemned to Hell
And their death pains will be truly grotty;
Since, in spite of the really awful smell,
I'll stuff eight inches up their dying botty.

Number 7 in the ORLOK series and one of the best*

O how I relish the taste of blood
****** out from the devastated jugular
But there is more, much more
When the victim is a nubile ****
From a Transylvanian village
Where ****** morality
Is quite ******* thin on the ground;
And that is how I met my fate.

'Twas on an October eve
When I met plump Esmeralda
And (having fed my fill from her neck
as she slept in her hut
under filthy rags stinking of stale *****),
I sank my fangs into her naked belly
Ripping into her bloated guts
With my accustomed gusto;
My tongue slurping its way
Over her twitching ****;
And finally I descended joyously
To her odorous *****-encrusted *****
For the last rites,
Before the final curtain
To her worthless life of peasantry.

But then, as my excitement mounted,
And just as I was on the verge
Of pumping out my vampiric *******,
I felt an agonising, mind-blasting pain
As a major stroke swept through me,
Wrecking my synapses big time,
Turning my brain into guacamole.
And now I am a crippled ******,
Just a spasticated old vampire
In my second-hand rusting wheelchair,
Courtesy of Romanian Social Services,
Drooling helplessly
Into my swollen pissy crotch,
Waiting for another enema,
My sole remaining pleasure
And a stimulus to my jaded prostate.

But, hurrah! hurrah! new hope arrives:
A miracle occurs as I read of
The new wonder pill from SuperDrug
Available only in private practise
And guaranteed to rejuvenate the jaded
Or your money back, no worries.
Orlok will fly again to pursue
The pleasures of the flesh
And especially the botty-zone.

This is number six of ORLOK's poems*

When I see a fat smiling face
On a plump young ******
I am consumed with lust
To rip out her neck
And to **** the lifeblood
From her throbbing veins.

And then my drooling jaws
Slide down her floppy ****
Heading southwards
To where the business is at
For a further tasty mouthful
From both ends.

Finally I administer
The coup de grâce
Which is to say
Putting it bluntly
Eight inches of vampiric ****
Up the dirtbox.

Poem Number Three from Edna's alter ego, Count ORLOK

O how the lust for virgins' blood rages through my veins,
My thirst for the wondrous elixir of human gore is all-engulfing!
I rise at dusk from my noisome grave, drooling with anticipation
And I soar upwards into the night sky like a bat out of Hell
(which is what I am, so it's no ******* exaggeration is it?).
I go to search out new victims in a new place as my old haunts
Are rather depleted following my ravages on their inhabitants,
But the foul miasma emanating from Wolverhampton's suburbs
Is enough to make me throw up last night's supper on my tuxedo,
And it totally kills my ******* appetite stone ******* dead.
With a shrieked *"The West Midlands Conurbation ***** big time!"
I fly off in disgust, a steam of diarrheoa trailing after me,
Like brown stardust.

You watch me from the bed
Where we have shared love's passion,
Your hair glistens in the morning light
O how I love you, my dearest.

My gorgeous form weaves its way
Gracefully across the room;
Then I throw the curtains back
On this bright April morning.

Let the Spring sunlight enter
And more fully illuminate
The next daring stage in our
Enticing ******* adventures.

Dazzled for a brief moment
By the brilliant solar rays,
You hear a rustling noise:
Precursor of new ****** delight.

I am wiping my well-toned bottom
After crapping on your carpet;
An enormous steaming mound awaits
To stimulate your ****** taste buds.

Beethoven's Ninth;
Mozart's Thirty-Eighth;
What do they lack
Artistically speaking?
They lack the music of the buttocks,
The celestial odourous ****
Which charmeth all who hear it.
Although admittedly Schubert
Left an unfinished movement
On the floor near his piano
And the whiff was something horrid.