O, to be in dear Petronella
Now that Spring is here!
But alas, poor lass, she is no more,
Bereft of life, dead and gone,
Breathing through the grass,
O woe, O woe are we,
The fat ****'s snuffed it.

No more will I and my friends
Ardent admirers all
(by the rancid cartload),
Feel her horrid toothless gums
Slurp their lascivious path of glory
Across our bloated obesities,
******* and slobbering,
Muttering sweetest nothings
Through mangled, matted pubics.

No more shall we feel her body
Groaning under every butch ******,
Uttering imprecations of desire.
However one consolation is ours:
We who remain behind on earth
Can have undisputed use of the giant *******
And will no longer need to cleanse it
Following Petronella's awful misuse thereof.

These horrid thoughts came to me
As in a terrible, foetid nightmare;
And I dreamed I saw Petronella's grave
Bedecked with flowers and phlegm;
And the holy angels sang overhead,
"It's an ill wind that blows
Out of the back passage
Once it's been ****** good and hard".

God was tired that day
After all
Six days shalt thou labour
And on the seventh
Shalt thou rest
And he'd be slaving away
For eighteen days nonstop
Mainly because of the offer of
Double overtime.

He'd written out these great rules
On how to live,
All eleven of them.

And he yelled out
"Oy Moses, you fat bearded ***,
I got some tablets of stone for you"
And Moses came out of the pub
And picked up the first ten
But, being a bit the worse for wear,
And nine sheets to the wind
With cut-price passover wine,
He never noticed the eleventh one.

"Never accept a personal cheque
Without a bank guarantee card"
Is what it said,
And you can't argue with that.

Ah! 'twas so many moon ago
When I met young(ish) Diana
- Known as ***** Di to her friends
Because of her willingness
To gaily **** almost anyone
Provided he was well-hung and sweet-smelling.

Ah! Delightful Bracknell New Town,
Dormitory zone par excellence,
And home to dear little ***** Di,
A paradise where I fully intended
To sleep with her (and much more)
On our very first romantic date.

I felt a bit of slight extravagance
Would ensure a good bunk-up
So I checked out the GFG
For a reasonably priced
Candle-lit Italian restaurant
Within a 10 miles radius.

After a rather tasty nosh-up
We repaired to her proletarian home,
The very first time yours truly
Had ever been in a Council flat,
(and I was a bit anxious about
leaving my Audi A6 Turbo in the street).

As we headed for the bedroom
She asked me conspiratorily
To keep my ******* voice down
As her eleven year old ******* son
Was hopefully fast asleep, doped up
On a generous dose of paracetemol.

O how lustily we two copulated!
Indeed more than merely that;
How I took full advantage of
Her other delightful apertures;
One could safely say that
No holes were barred that night.

We were just in the middle of
Session numero quatro
Involving a vigorous *******
Bit of backdoor love-action,
When the bedroom door opened
And in walked little Reginald.

He said naught but only gaped
To see Mummy in flagrante delicto
(mercifully we were in the good old days
before mobile phones and iPads,
or else our ***** coupling
would have made the rounds of Year 5).

Oft times have I wisely considered
What impression that visual treat
Might have made upon his growing mind:
Was he emotionally scarred to find
His dear Mama was a total slapper
Who liked a bit of uninhibited botty-fun?

I doubt it - but I shall ne'er forget his cry,
So revealing was it of the mores
Of the aspiring lower classes:
*"For Christ's sake who's banging your fat **** this time, Mum,
Can't you keep the noise down, for once?
I've got ******* school in the morning."

You know as well as I do
that internet dating can have its ups
and downs
and thus, after so many futile meetings
and tragic misadventures
in a domestic UK situation,
I decided to spread my wings
and so I logged on to an Australian website
for lonely kangaroo lovers
yes it was www.blackstump-legover.com.au
where no holes were barred.

And I soon struck up a promising friendship
with someone who sounded like
a real goer, a total slapper,
with no morals whatsover
judging from the photo she posted
taken with a mobile phone
up her skirt
which showed her muffin *****
as well as what she had eaten
for breakfast yesterday,
poking its head out.

We finally agreed to meet
behind the old dunny
in the park where the abos go
to exchange their social security vouchers
for crack *******
or a bottle of Castlemain XXXX
or a quick one up each others' bots
in spite of the pong
on a sunny arvo.

You can imagine how effing disappointed
I was when she arrived
on a trailer attached to her grandson's ute
strapped to a battered gurney
(and almost insensate)
but still ready for a bit of backdoor action
but not from me, no sirree,
thank you very much mate:
I might be desperate, but
I would have had to have
clipped my nose shut with a clothes peg
to get anywhere near her
and my gag reflex simply couldn't cope.

So I bravely dragged the gurney
over to the convenient gap
in the fence overlooking the mighty ravine
and with a gentle shove
I sent her to that sweet place
where peace can be found
and I can still hear her scream
as she bounced off the rocks
accusing me of being illegitimate
before silence reigned
and I smiled in joy.

It only goes to show, O my friends,
that there are female dogs
of the most hideous kind
on every sodding continent
on this dear planet of ours;
and I may as well stick to
a handful of Nivea cream
and a Kleenex, at least the odour
is wholesome.

O but my quest for love
(or at least some hot ***** ***)
has been a hard road, harder than gravel,
but finally I was pretty
sure that Eros' arrow had scored
a ******* bullseye
as I re-read the fifteen page email
of concentrated vile **** and obscenity
from the fabulously gorgeous teenage triplets
who were enamoured of me
and my open crotch photos;
certainly the accompanying attachments
of filth and sisterly depravity boded well
for our meeting, a picnic in the park.

My wildest dreams were exceeded
as I saw them waiting in their half-**** beauty
and, after a few bottles of champagne
and a crate of oysters (their treat),
they carried me off, cackling like ***-mad hens,
to their waiting chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce
to take me to their promised penthouse pad
for a nuit d'amour never to be forgotten;
"Where are we going girls?" I enquired
and how I screamed when they answered Scunthorpe.

I can't ******* believe it
it's enough to make you want
to blow your own ******* head off
it really ******* is.

Crueller than cruel are the women
who make my life a living hell
lurking like Lovecraftian monsters
in internet chatrooms and forums
waiting to break my poor purple *****
on internet site after internet site
hiding their ugliness
under a ******* bushel.

I must be a dumb *******
but I really thought yes maybe
this time yes maybe just maybe
finally after more ****-ups
than a cut-price ***** has per year
and I one more time fell for their lies
and another date went wrong
and my poor bleeding heart
is broken like a duck's beak
hit by a twin-bore shotgun cannonade.

It was a warm summer's evening
with a humid atmosphere guaranteed
to make my nuts sweat freely
and we had agreed to meet
at a quiet spot in the city park
down by the old public lav
where the **** frolic after midnight
leaving the place littered
with filled ribbed condoms
after indiscrimate **** love sessions.

I eagerly re-read the print-out
from the new internet site
(www.fuckabroadforfree.com)
where kindly ******* fate had brought us
together like lost souls in a hurricane
seeking solace in hot ***** *******
and I felt sure your byline
'I love banging ugly strangers'
coupled with the open-crotch photos
could only lead to good times for all.

I hoped you would be a looker
even though the snapshots
you had boldly posted tended
to concentrate on the other end
where your twin holes
were in evidence big-time
so my readers can imagine
my intense ******* disppointment
when I finally saw you
with your tiny bald pointed head
peeping hopefully out
of the ****** rags you were wearing.

I think I was probably justified
in using the claw hammer
I had wisely brought with me
just in case and I must say
in my own ******* defence
love isn’t just a matter of aesthetics
and maybe I'm no raving Adonis myself
but you really have to draw the line
somewhere and you were on the other side
by a very long chalk
so very sadly and reluctantly
I gave into anger and let you have it
and please believe me when I say
that the sound of your death scream
will probably not keep me awake at night
as I drown my sorrows
in solitary *** and single malt whisky.
*******, brave new world!