why would i go to a *******,
                                             if i had the chance to go
   to a brothel?
it's a question that suggests both a barber shop
       and a ballet...
   do my hair-do on twinkle toes...
          and a cheeky pirouette donning a mullet...
                               **** the tease fetish....
  let's get into the nitty-gritty of eating your *** out.
that's probably the first and last reason i will never
set foot in america... the ****** tease of
                              what used to be brothels...
but are now ****** ballet excuses...
                             and it's like:
   oh they're not slaves, i paid them,
            they charge an extra tenner if you want
to eat their ***** out... this weird **** they do...
they cream up: and you're off! piston maniac....
                        fudge! fudge! fudge!
                                                      plop­'s a daisy!
i don't know how the brothel devolved into
a strip bar...  
                                  don't know, don't ask me,
but if they are *** slaves... then i'm a slave to my own
libido...
                          and that's way more harsh
taking to moulding those dough cheeks of a buttocks
into scones... let me tell you.
    moaning scones... groaning scones...
                   angry scones...
                                               tickled crumpets...
oh i can be a pornographer... for sure,
     there's nothing as easy as writing pornoraphy
having watched enough to the point of: boredom....
so bored, that you end up writing about it;
   a bit like the case of wearing two pairs of sunglasses...
****! my eyes are watering!
              i'm crying hot tears!
                                  either that, or i'm laughing!
what's the point of strip bars, in all honesty?
                  i'd ******* in the national gallery to some
renaissance masterpiece... or fiddle with some marble
****** sooner than... go to a place where
you're merely teased?
                          what sort of sadistic ****** would
go to such a place?
                       you want to go to a place wherer
once you *******, you jump into a bath and have
a cold shower, and she's on the bed mastrubating...
    because you're saying: honey... you're hot as ****...
and she's like: watch my hand do ping-pong
       with my ***** with you taking a cold shower
       gasping for air... to make similis... parallel
comparisons.
             i just don't know why bulgarian prostitutes
fake being romanian...
           some people do know the word: harasho /
dobrze / o.k. / and it's spelled in cyrillic as:
                    'АРАШО
                            ' = i don't actually know what letter
to utilise in engaging with the romanic equivalent
of the cyrillic                 ha ah         ha....
    it's almost as if the cyrillic patriarchs knew no
humour, or for that matter... ever laughed.
               **** are bulgar women worthy of
a harvard stipend in terms of looks and other
delicacies of their body... they just exfoliate like
                                      morning dew in april...
i just don't understand why they lie about being
romanian...                       but back to the comparison...
what's the difference between a ******* and a brothel?
the former hosts perverts...
                                   the latter hosts plumbers...
hot enough? i said are you moist enough?
                  why would you go to a place where
you watch... but can't touch?
                                or can touch... but in such a way
as to be the equivalent of stroking a dog's head?
     what's the point of teasing the man's stratrum
of "supposed" superiority?
      that throbbing hard-on... is it really going to help you?
i'd find more point in throwing coconuts:
                                aiming at a giraffe's head.