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Deathreat Man sends jazzcops, knacker of the knockingshops,
vicesquad packin' - undercover, but they ratted themselves out
and away with hamradioreceiving wired rainmacs and hamacting.
Deathreat Man 10-4'd the interference from Kojaks with Kodaks
in their underdaks, who'll win no lifeimitatingart bitpart in 'The Bill'.
But Deathreat Man can't coast and cotch it yet, coz Deathreat Mansion is still apugwash with picaroon scrut DVDs, e.g. 'Captain Mike Oddpeace and Ye Comeliest, Wenchiest Trickarse Skanks of Albion',
'United Nations of T'n'A: Resolution 69247',   'Celeb Gilfs,
Vol 11: the Royal Jubblies' and other semenal skinema
fuzzboxoffice hits, tho' Deathreat's sno-res copies
will have you hitting the fuzzy box.
But it wouldn't hurt to send a Yakuza biker called Keyser Suzaki
as an agent of embracery, who'll hurt any justice nuts amongst
the jury, mow Magnacarta hardliners down doubly with his sports-
bike and his katana. For should goddess Pomeroy pointedly
forgot to blindfold prove totem like Diphoterine t'any o'
that 12, who should have been crying blind ( tho' their
intimidator was trained in Tokyo Road Rash Kendo,
not sprayin' Captor), then they'll send Deathreat Man
to deathrebtors' gaol in a blackmaria like Batman's campervan.
I miss you less than a mousehole moon.
I miss you less than a catflapped cocoon.
I miss you like I miss a swaggering buffoon.
I miss you less than a household name,
ergo I miss you less than Cheggers or Charlemagne.
I miss you like I miss being
in a portaloo in a typhoon.
Miss you
like **** on my shoe
or **** on my socks.

I miss you less than Miss Hoolie from 'Balamory' on CBeebies
misses her sidearms. I miss you like Balamory misses H-achin'
'ooligan McDougalls from the pen of Irvine.
I miss you less than, I dunno,
the last of the Val Doonicans.

I'd miss you if I was sick as a skaggot of selfrespect.
Should I miss the vortex which was there
instead of wholesome loving whoresex?
I miss you like I miss
a spacehopper on the tightrope.
I miss you like I miss the Corpse of Hope.
I miss you like Christ misses his bike
or a  fish misses a feminist.
And Abel
towhomallskeletonsareapprentices
could not miss missin' 'To The Manor Born'
both 1st time round and on Gold
the other umpteenillion showings,
or in anthologised form on boxset
in bluerayhidef
ANY  LESS.
Yet I miss you less than that,
less than another time, place and culture's trivia
millennia after my death.

Hera forbid I'm one of Cupid's flibbertigibbets,
but I've no weepy wist for you now,
not e'en the weeniest whit,
now I bask in the favour, all righty,
of Aphrodite,
coz what me and my newbitofstuff's got
is bona fide.
I even miss all the times I missed before I met her;
I'd exchange ever being with you to have got here earlier.

But if I'm pushed,
I guess
I lament
your absence
as much as I miss Princess Diana's.
Call me 'Percy Controversy'
(or Controversial Percival the Thirdival in front of royalty),
but I never met the Lady.

— The End —