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 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
THIS IS PART OF EDNA's "randyhornbag" EROTICA SERIES
(and a learned one too!)

*****
dildas
dildat
dildamus
dildatis
dildant

the latin class held its breath
the teacher must be a ****
or just spaced out on quaaludes
and then Miss explained
"
dildare* is the verb "to have fun
by yourself" and remember girls
it takes the accusative case
as in "ave sandra, vulvam tuam hodie dildam"+
(+ for the benefit of those not fortunate to have been
blessed with a classical education this loosely translates as
"hi there Sandra, let me ***** your ***** today" )
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
A lovely Barry Hodges poem

People think that Calais is just a charming port on the flat French coast
Replete with exquisite restaurants patronised by English visitors
Who have crossed the Channel to get a decent meal for once,
And who want to take advantage of the wondrous *savoire vivre francais
,
Even though they will get wittily insulted for their English accents.
There is more: the town has some of the finest late 40s architecture
To be found anywhere in the western world, spontaneously thrown up
After la ville ancienne was 95% flattened by the gallant but clumsy Brits
In what is still patriotically referred to as "La Libération".
But there is yet more to this gourmands' and cheap ***** buyers' mecca:
Believe me, I know, I have suffered a grievous and terrible loss there
When I blundered into a cheese shop on the Rue Royale one summer's day.

My companion that day was my dear fifth wife,  Winifred
(a four foot high but stoutly built ***** with a major speech impediment),
And, being attracted from five streets away to Maison Le Merde,
The world-famous fromagerie, by its unearthly overpowering pong,
My dear one, my lovely ****** spouse, dragged me through the door.
Choking back a desire to gag, she started stammering away to M. Le Merde,
Trying to order a couple of hundred grams of Carré de Mort Absolue,
When Mr L.M lost his rag totally and assumed wifey was trying to mock him
(How could one have known Monsieur was the French stuttering champion?)
And so he took out the cleaver he habitually kept behind the counter
To deter English tourists from stealing his cheesy comestibles,
And severed Winny's darling head in a single fell coup de grace
Which left her dramatically shorter than she previously was.

I managed to escape a similar dire fate by running like the clappers
And hiding in a nice toilette publique (femmes) while he stampeded by,
His mighty chopper in his cheese-impregnated Gallic paw.
And when I reported the matter to the gendarmerie, were they sympa?
They were no more helpful than seins sur un taureau fou
And insisted I should pay for the funeral there and then in advance,
Threatening me with a real good thumping dans mes **** should I decline.
Dear God, I shall have to use a different entry port to France next time
(although sur le grapevine I hear Boulogne is a bit of a dump),
But at least there aren't so many ******* would-be refugees.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
One of Edna's ancestors went down
On the Titanic
On a First Class passenger
(Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! she went)
Only she survived
To tell the tale.

And the band played the Moonlight Sonata
As the ******* ship sunk to the bottom.
"Toot! Toot!"
Went the foghorn
Like a farting elephant.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
THIS IS THE LEPROSY TANGO
Imagine a lepers' hospital somewhere in the jungle;
it's St Valentines Day and everyone is looking for love.
Let the music begin...*


Leprosy!
I think I've got leprosy;
At least my doctor
Assures me it's so.

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Leprosy!
I'm pleased I've got leprosy;
At least for the moment,
Till my privy parts go.

One by one my bits
And pieces, they drop off
And I must be so careful
Whenever I cough.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Leprosy!
Oh yes, I have leprosy
And I'm so happy
Cos it's a great way to go.

OLE!
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
O peaceful moon, shining gently o'er the fields,
In your soft light I see a tree, a hedge, a glistening pond;
And the soft night sounds of rustling reeds and swaying boughs
Intermingle with the nightly warfare of a million creatures.

But hark! From the new housing estate across the park
There comes a rather different sound.  Through an open window
Comes the healthy thwack of flesh on flesh and muffled shrieks of joy
As Isaac and Wendy Bumsenfotze indulge themselves un peu.

Isaac's got his gasmask on, and his rubber flippers too
And (speaking candidly) looks an unattractive proposition
Especially now his skinny chest towers o'er his massive *******,
All four mighty manly inches of it from tip to curlies.

Lying trussed up on their bed, atop its needed rubber sheeting,
Lies Sam, their well-trained patient pedigree crossbred donkey,
Upon whose good-natured, hirsute, unsuspecting person
Nameless atrocities have often been performed in Eros' name.

What are they going to do tonight? I bet you'll never guess.
Well, Wendy's strapped her ***** on and intends to use it first
On Ikey's waiting well-lubricated back end
And then it's Sam's turn and ***** the R.S.P.C.A.

And while Sam is getting poked by loving Wendy,
Old Ike will not be idle: camera-phone in one hand
And mail-order sjambok in the other, he'll record
Their motions and lacerate them both simultaneously.

Underneath his gasmask, Isaac gets a bit sweaty and excited,
And once their party's over all three will doze off:
A truly lovely scene.  But they will be soon by woken by
The morning sun glittering on Wendy's cast-off legirons.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
A POEM DEDICATED TO ALL LOVERS
OF THE "TINTIN" COMIC BOOKS
by
Edna

Captain Haddock had always liked le petit Snowy:
It was the cheeky smile on his cute canine jowls
Which really got the randy Captain going:
"Blue blistering barnacles", he would cry erotically.

But Snowy had his doubts, as he knew the fervour
Of cher Tintin's possessive proprietorial passion
And absent-minded Professor Calculus' twisted lust
Was a bitter memory in his doggy ****.

Wouah! Wouah! dit le Snowy.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
A sexmad young girl with dementia
****** a dynamite stick for adventure
They found her ******
In South Carolina
And her ******* landed in New Hampshire.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
He mows the lawn and scatters
The clippings on the ground
And I don't think  it matters
If they mess up all around.

For He is the Naked Groundsman
And He mows the lawns all bare
(But in the depths of winter
In His dead mum's underwear).

Amen.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
It's quite
difficult
to tell
a really
really good
religious
joke but I
am confident
that you'll
love this one.
There were three Irish Catholic women coming out of church after confession
and they were exchanging information on their ****** sins they way you do,
and the first one out of the confessional said she had done something so terrible
she could never tell them for the shame and filth of it all, at all, at all, at all.
The second one confessed to her friends that she had given herself one off the wrist
and the priest had said to rinse her digits in the font and do three Hail Marys.
The first woman said "Oh my God!" and put her hand up to her mouth at this.
The third woman said she'd given her boyfriend a ******* in the back of his car
and the priest had told her to wash her  mouth out with the holy font water and
say ten Hail Marys. "Oh dear sweet Jesus, no," cried the first woman.
The last
two girls
were really
curious as
to why the
first woman
was so
shocked.
"So what did
you do?" they
demanded,
"You can't
keep us all
in suspense,
at all, at all"
they chorused.
"All right,"
she said,
hanging her
head down in
embarrassment.
"I let me
old man put
his **** up
me *******
last night,
so I naturally
used the
font to
cleanse me
sins away."
And the two
women had thought
someone had left
a tasty bar of
chocolate lying there
for penitents to nibble on whilst
mumbling their Hail Marys in atonement.
\//.................................................................­............\//
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
Don't be sad,
Don't be pathetic;
I can't bear to see a woman cry;
It makes me want to thump her one.
Don't mope about your lost love;
I never did and I'm none the worse for it.

Better to get your gladrags on;
Go down to the city centre;
Pick yourself a decent bar;
Waggle your sweet little *** at someone;
Drag him home (or go off to his pad,
but that's risky as it may stink of old socks)
And enjoy what you have before it withers,
And you become as dry as a prune on Boxing Day.
That's what I told my sister anyway;
And she's as happy as Larry now with a bun in the oven
Even though she's on the ******* dole
(mind you, she's uglier than a fairground mule
and the ******* baby is no raving beauty
what with his withered arm and Pistorian stumps).
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
We all piled out of the pub
****** as a load of newts;
'Where to now boys?'
Bellowed naughty Niall O 'Neill
(that's notorious nineteen pints a night Niall)
As he tottered over to his Pa's Rolls Royce.

'Do ye think ye should be driving
With that record-breakin' skinful
I just seen you put away?'

Enquired serious Sean slurringly
From his slightly inconvenient
Viewpoint in the beery gutter.

So we all clambered gaily into the car
And roared off into the enchanted night
And then this ****** stupid clodhopper
Who didn't even have his driving licence yet
Came round the next corner in his Ford
And got sent to Kingdom-sodding-Come.

'Oh ****, would ye just look at the mess
The oul' fella's made of me Daddy's car,
And it's his pride and joy so it is!'

Cried Niall O'Neill in incandescent rage,
As he surveyed the largest insurance claim
In the County Wicklow for twenty years.

How fortunate Father Tucker and Garda Sergeant O'Toole
Could both testify from their vantage point
In the front seat of the devastated Roller,
The accident was not Niall's fault at all, at all,
As the other stupid sober ****** was on
The wrong side of the ****** street.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
Edna's Special Recipes No. 4:

"Le pit bull à la français"

By Edna

At this festive time of year, why be boring and choose a turkey? Especially since the poor creatures have been reared intensively, overfed and fattened artificially, kept in a cage or in a filthy shed, never having seen the sunshine.

So Edna says: offer your family something rather different this Christmas, something a little unusual.  Had you ever considered an American Pit Bull Terrier?  A Pittie may not be the first thing which springs to mind for Christmas dinner and I admit there are some drawbacks: they are difficult to get hold of: neighbours' pets are a dangerous option and modern intensive Pittie-farming methods don't work as the brutes are far too savage for most farmhands; also they have relatively little meat on them, being mainly muscle and hatred. However, these negatives are offset by the joy any fun-loving chef will gain from killing the ******* and you, as hostess, will bask in the happiness of your family as they contemplate what they are about to receive.

First, it is important only to use a FRESHLY killed mutt as Pit Bulls do not freeze well (they struggle and bark for what seems ages once shoved into the freezer) and the pre-packed, pre-gutted ones you will find in your local supermarket are likely to have been battery-reared and force-fed in order to put a bit of extra flesh on. Believe me, nothing quite matches the texture of a freshly killed Pittie. And of course, you get the head as a bonus for your pet cats to play with.

A stranger's pet is my own preferred animal as a neighbour might see you skulking round their back garden with a pick axe and twig what you were up to. So, off you go in the car and seek out your dinner. Once you have found a suitable four-legged meal, follow the owner home, wait for the right moment and then get the chloroform pads in action. One for the owner and one for the dog. Pop the zonked-out mutt into the strong black canvas bag you brought with you, shove it into the back of the car and off you go!

So now you've got your hound: what's the best way to **** it?  We gourmets have argued over this for years: decapitation, drowning, hanging, electrocution or beating to death with a sledgehammer? My own favourite method is to drop the drugged brute into a large tin bathtub of warm water and then add the 240v power cable. The expression on the dog's face when the volts kick in is fabulous but you need to be careful in case it leaps out of the bath and goes for your jugular. Hanging from a high tree, accompanied by extensive tenderizing with a baseball bat is a safer but equally enjoyable option. Two further benefits are that hanging is not so messy as the drowning/electrocution route and the whole family can watch a hanging in safety instead of having to risk the dog leaping out of the tub.

Once you are sure the dog is dead (about five minutes after it's stopped kicking and moaning), take it down and cut the head off with a cleaver.  Carefully remove the ears for use as decoration. If you have no cats to give the skull to, shove it on the top of your Christmas tree to provide a family talking point.

Next, skin the dog and discard, bearing in mind that it would be unwise to leave the telltale evidence for the binmen. My flaying advice is to use a sharp knife starting at the **** and working my way up to the neck. Be sure to remove all the ****** parts, as these do NOT taste good. It's nice to roast a Pittie whole, but few people have an oven big enough (unless you scored for a puppy that is). So, carefully cut up the cadaver into two or three separate joints. The following recipe is suitable for a nice shoulder or leg.

Rub all over with freshly ground sea salt and black pepper; make a series of deep incisions in the flesh at two-inch intervals and carefully insert slivers of fresh garlic. Place in your largest Le Creuset ***, with two pints of Evian water, a half-bottle of a full-bodied red wine, half a dozen French oignons and bring to the boil. Then reduce the heat and simmer for two to three hours, depending on weight. Be sure to check every 20 minutes that the liquid hasn't boiled away! Add extra wine and olive oil as necessary. Once the meat is tender, your dog is ready!

Serve your Pit Bull with mashed potatoes and a nice salad. I find a fruity Beaujolais drinks very well with stewed Pittie à la français but my paddy friends swear by Guinness. Whatever your tipple, enjoy our meal! And think: because of your caring approach to Christmas, one more turkey will live to see New Year and the world is rid of another Pit Bull horror.
 Dec 2014
Edna Sweetlove
Chicago, Chicago, it’s a very big place
Chicago, Chicago, it’s a total disgrace;
Bet your flabby buttocks you'll lose the blues in Chicago,
Chicago, the town where someone sat on my face.

On State Street, that great street, I just want to say
I did things with strangers, both straight and gay;
I had the time, the time of my life;
I met a mobster and slept with his wife
In Chicago, one fine day. Hey! Hey!

Chicago, Chicago, where tragedy struck,
O horror, O horror, what a bit of bad luck;
Bet your flabby buttocks I’ll not go back to Chicago,
Chicago, where my girlfriend got hit by a truck.

On Lake Shore, a fat *****, one fine sunny day
I picked up and we thought we’d go for a lay;
Her husband took a hammer and bashed in her ****
It took a couple of hours to mop up the bits
In Chicago, one fine day. Hey! Hey!
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