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Zay Dec 2014
Tried to focus
But you invaded my head
Memories flooding in my mind
So I wrote this poem instead
Because you are my love
And you deserve the best
Begging through forceful lunches and dinners
Longing for the back breaking beds
Sun pouring through dusty windows
Sneaking out when they never let
Elevated on high roof tops
You are more than what they said
Daily visits to the Lulu market
There wasn't a thing I didn't get
Warm nights at the Khalifa park
Watching the joyful kids scream
The illuminating soccer stadium
Glowing on the faces of a determined team
The sun blazing on my skin
The stray cats with pleading eyes
The dust dancing with the wind
Twisting and turning in the blue sky
Suitcases filled with memories
As I stepped onto the plane
Hoping for another visit
My precious Bahrain.
Max Neumann Dec 2019
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
Albania needs hellopoetry
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Angola needs hellopoetry
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Australia needs hellopoetry
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Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry

The Bahamas needs hellopoetry
Bahrain needs hellopoetry
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Denmark needs hellopoetry  
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Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry

East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry
Ecuador needs hellopoetry
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Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry
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Rwanda needs hellopoetry

Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry
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Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry
Samoa needs hellopoetry
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Senegal needs hellopoetry
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Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry
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South Africa needs hellopoetry
Spain needs hellopoetry
Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry
Sudan needs hellopoetry
Sudan, South needs hellopoetry
Suriname needs hellopoetry
Sweden needs hellopoetry
Switzerland needs hellopoetry
Syria needs hellopoetry

Taiwan needs hellopoetry
Tajikistan needs hellopoetry
Tanzania needs hellopoetry
Thailand needs hellopoetry
Togo needs hellopoetry
Tonga needs hellopoetry
Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry
Tunisia needs hellopoetry
Turkey needs hellopoetry
Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry
Tuvalu needs hellopoetry

Uganda needs hellopoetry
Ukraine needs hellopoetry
United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry
United Kingdom needs hellopoetry
United States needs hellopoetry
Uruguay needs hellopoetry
Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry

Vanuatu needs hellopoetry
Vatican City needs hellopoetry
Venezuela needs hellopoetry
Vietnam needs hellopoetry

Yemen needs hellopoetry

Zambia needs hellopoetry
Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
Why? Because people from all over the world have found something here: a place of belongingness.

Please note that I am just a poet on hellopoetry who loves this website sincerely. I am not affiliated or personally related to the founders of hellopoetry.

I rarely ask to get my poems reposted, but I would encourage everyone to spread the message, possibly even outside of hellopoetry, for new active users and possible contributors.

It would break a lot of hearts if hellopoetry wouldn't exist anymore.
Yenson Apr 2019
What does a Prince
have in common with some fake stooge
pretending to be an Asian in Mumbai
but for oxygen
Prince doesn't need a Chia Wallah
and they belong to differing caste
stay below as you've always been
you are not important
This is about Rajarandu  Bandirajastan, a poet that attended a poets workshop I was at, who writes the most ridiculus poems and seem to think he makes sense, he was an old colonial servant who was slimy, sly and has pretentiousness in abundance. I have since discovered his brother visits this site and hopes he recognizes his sibling.
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Quinn Feb 2011
today i sat
in my living room
and i clicked
and typed
and clicked
and typed
and clicked
and typed
and then i found something.
something that would change me.
something that is changing the world.

it began as a group of men
marching peacefully.
carrying flags
and speaking their beliefs.
young and old came together
for one reason-
to defend their rights
as man.

they walk past palm trees
and tall city buildings,
on the streets that were once
their daily commute to work.

they come to a barricade
and are the army wastes no time.
they are fired at.
all hell breaks loose.

men fall,
men cry,
men run,
men die.

i'm still sitting in my living room.
©erinquinn2011
Mr Bigglesworth Apr 2013
I was sure I’d have an issue
When you went to Mogadishu
But I didn’t use a tissue
Cos I didn’t even miss you

I was sure I’d feel some pain
When you left here for Bahrain
But as long as there’s a plane
You’d soon be back again

I have to see a quack
Since you left here for Iraq
And now we’re wearing black
Cos you’re never coming back
The difference between a holiday and a tour of duty
Harsha Jun 2018
When I was in hostile environment training in Manchester
I picked up this butterfly pendent for you but never presented it
Because of your ludicrous inkling, that true friends should never exchange gifts;
When I first met you working at that coffee shop back home
I was trying to woo you by writing poetry but I failed and read them on my own;
When I was 20 occupied in Dubai I was rationalizing what adventures you might have ventured in to
While observing the city ***** ****** monoliths of sand cement and glass;
When I was stuck in an airport in Pakistan, I saw a humming bird and a blue plastic bag
Arbitrarily floating in the air, then thought of your indigo hair band
Which you use to wear, hopelessly on your left arm
When I was watching the Formula 1 back in Bahrain I watched the race cars firm pass
And wondered how our time together also expired just as fast;
When I was 23 - enduring in the war tore city of Baghdad
I meant to write but there was nothing stimulating
In that hell hole to write for your innocent soul to have ever grasped
Hence I held my silence steadfast
I spared you the misery when I failed to communicate the wounds I received in Ballad (a US Air force base in Iraq);
Then when I was in the ***** fields in the Kanoon province of  Afghanistan
I discovered that ****** is almost as intoxicating & addictive as you
When I was in a discotheque in New Castle, I saw a girl with a butterfly tattoo
Reminded me of how you spread your wings and flew away with someone more attuned to you
When I was in a seafood restaurant in Singapore, I ordered a Unagi sushi (I did not even eat it)
Only to induce the aroma of your favourite dish as it evoked the sweet memory of you
When I was in a 15 hour layover in Male sinking my feet in the sea sand
I simply wished that you were there with me holding my hand
When I was once stuck in the metro in London I allegedly meant to send a postcard
But got distracted by the fact that you were engaged to another hence it was excruciatingly hard
After a Coldplay concert ended in Liverpool I saw this little Irish lass
And thought how beautiful your children might take after your beautiful stance
When I was visiting a castle in Edinburgh oh! How I wished I have secured a castle for you
And how I should have said those 3 words more often than I ever moved around without you
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
i just don't know what to do with the compatible excess,
well, i know what to do with the evolutionary urge to keep up appearances, a semi-detached, the 3.2 children,
just make a sit-com, fill it with canned laughter and wait for
some idiot to get it laughing without synchronised swimming
gagging for air... that'll work... ministry of funny walk? n'ah,
too much Ox cubes in Welsh:
buwch'bwytasem'asyn'tafod                       -
cow     ate              ***  tongue
i swear that's how it sounded while i
made my index and finger poignant to remember...
guess, they did... but given that only 25% of Velsch sprech es,
wer merken? Edvardus Hirgaran?
well... it was misspelled hallucinogenic carrots by some
voodoo Vishnu in Essex, a
man of many municipalities - those including
Burma and Bahrain... also to boot, somehow,
in the federal funeral filing: Itchy Patchy Chelsea,
when riches never gets you a mention
in the line of Vatican Ivory stipends to
**** a didgeridoo, you know that an angelic choir
is about to kumbaya you to sleep
third day rising with the words: hatch-patch-barns-on-fire,
someone left a stove alight in 16 66 somewhere
where land was loaned, but not lived on.
funny learning Velsch... it's like the Latin Vulgate,
you just want to swear in it, but end up citing poo,
like you want to rhyme English but only get
Anglo-American relations strains if yeah
             isn't rhymed with hell yeah...
and the 9th precinct of never, ever yeah,
wasn't an encryption of the 33rd king of Judea
exiled in Ethiopia, with market claims over the entire
timber economy from Congo... because you know how
those Africans are so ******* poor they need white people
to write propaganda to the African Americans to feel
helpless so that Bob Geldof can write some other schmuck hit
where the Mondays left the rats nibbling at each other,
so i get to be J. F. K... and Saint Sinatra...
and St. Peter gets to chime the lunch bell,
with right-handed hook leaves the Amish to rebel in
that movie about ****** adverts as the rite of redemption.
well, you know, patchy Adams thought he had the turf of
publishing covered, he thought he was paid the ransom,
to protect the interests of the covenant peoples of the american
cancan dancing monkeys numbed on alcohol...
as i thought i was educated for a higher purposes...
education breeds only one higher purposes... disappointment...
look at the ******* agricultural economy...
the automobile industry... we're being educated to only
be disappointed... thank **** so many men decided to
wrestle with the hammer like they'd explore macho masculinity
with their ******* shadow partner over an
insurance liability that a woman came to represent.
judy smith Apr 2016
The Arabian Fashion Zone, which drew large crowds at Bride Abu Dhabi, was a space dedicated to designers from the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Bahrain, who showcased their latest collections of traditional and evening wear. Among them was Sharjah-born Fawzia Al Zarooni, who made good her childhood dreams of becoming a designer when she established the label Ms Unique Designs. It had one of the most vibrant stands at the show, filled with occasion gowns, jalabiyas and abayas in jungle green, tangerine and magenta. Al Zarooni shares the inspiration behind her creations.

What’s unique about your label?

The modern cuts, the finishing, the handwork and the fabrics I use – I’m always fusing different textures together and giving my clients plenty of options about the embellishments, beads and semi-precious stones they can finish their garments with.

What do Emirati guests wear to weddings?

We wear totally different styles to the formal abaya, which is normally plain in design and opaque. For weddings we want to look glamorous, perhaps by wearing a dress. Or if we do choose an abaya for the occasion, it will be black but very sheer to show the dress beneath, which will be very colourful.

What might an Emirati bride wear?

The lady getting married will wear a traditional western wedding dress – but not that often with an abaya on top. For some, that is too much.

What style of western gowns are trending?

Nothing too big. The bride must be able to walk and move easily in her dress. Tastes have changed a lot and just a few years ago, an Emirati bride wanted big, fluffy gowns with lots of stones and dentelle – today, simplicity is what she wants.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/cheap-formal-dresses
Paige Jan 2018
My soldier traveled across the sea.
He gazed upon twinkling purple Crete stars and thought of me.
He felt the undertones of my body in the grey blue Bahrain Sea.
I sent him my warmest love when he stared at the sparkling sun.

My soldier came home when my letters arrived.
Time was too long.
Her silky hair laid on his chest,
just as the dry Crete wind blew,
when I whispered I love you 6000 miles away.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
fake news or no news,
yetis or
                    drunk eskimos
loosening a ****
                   on a trampoline...
whatever,
                   one fact is certain:
male sparrows,
                and mallards?
blush *******.
                     hands down
i honestly can only
drink... what's tha'....
less VAT and more F...
     vvvvv'aha...
v'ah thought?
   - bran...
      brand...
           BRADLY!
   caught a sober sailor:
straight, no ice...
and i somehow received
a castration notice minding
these two bird species,
which exfoliated in:
dull dumb hay-coloured
female...
   my my...
the males are ripe for
a military procession,
and a unanimous yell
akin to the modern russians...
slightly the gay hurrah,
and more mother Ural
citing:               itself...
       sparrow males
and mallards...
          cut those ballsies
off an i'll crown
myself the last prince
of a Bahrain harem...
to appease shamrock
sheikh baldy...
              start
   flustered over a well
salivated paper aero-experiment
hitting slam-dunk
shamrock rap...
       eh... the usual...
        hand only comes
in second to exploring
the ****...
          kissing prostitutes
is apparently equivalent
to stalling on: blah...
        blush *******
though...
     in vivo memoriae mors:
in life, the memory of death,
guess death has
to revive owning up
             to a bit of life...
imagination i can agree
dies, utterly...
        but memory?
    hard to **** off memory...
thinking can die the easy
death of mishearing
   the term: future...
   but memory?
            blush *******,
the male examples of
sparrow and those
english pub ducks and
bulldog card game subjects
of depiction...
     no... i'm pretty sure
a ****** wouldn't
   be composed with
      imagining a scenario
for death being
        stanced as: panicky...
problem with
perfecting a deviance...
         becauae...
this mea culpa
      *******-shaving
mantra?
                 it's...
   kinda... itchy...
   irritating...
                status quo
     fizzy, or rather:
  boiling under the radar...
          mea culpa mea culpa
mea culpa...
                to have been born
into this sort of masochism?
       counter arguments:
     heading into a cul de sac...
like the genesis of
cognition
   with an chimp scratching
its cranium...
         nice to know
the fungus brigade
having two pence worth
                of argument
to imply:
         infested, long lost
limb,
replaced with a pickled
fungus stump,
or the "hallucination"
   of a brain and spine
            in a bio-broth...
   hell, if it's safe to say that
god-head-fungus spoke
through me...
           photosynthesis
edibles are...
                  what was the point?
a ******* mushroom
conspiracy?!
              blush *******...
those male green 'ed
ducks, and notably
the in-reverse
   niqab slit male sparrows...
   blush *****...
               you almost
want them to become stuffed
mantles...
      if only not compensated
by the jittering
movements...
   the irony of being
able to float, like a bumber-sticker
with an annoying
relief for body in ushering
out a quack... like some sort
of a squeezed *******
revealing a:
                     HA-to-Q-to-mmm...
and you'll never know
visting a *******,
given the nearing a week-old
        "moral" hangover...
trigger-happy-itch though?
      don't know that
                   'un either...
           a 2 year celibacy spree?
no wonder i'm disorientated...
i attempted the same
results from cutting up
raw beef into a culinary
party-of-one in the guise
of a tartare;
             oh god, it can't be minced
beef...
            nearing sushi...
popcorn sushi -
        edible bits,
             simulating cartilage treats!
kaleidoscope of torn
                   into sinew lisps;
and it doesn't even bother
me eating poached chicken...
  given the precursor
of broth...
                   notably with
pregnant-pouch-soft
    delicacy of certain
vegetables...
  notably a leak,
   an onion or a garlic tooth...
i'll admit though:
nothing beats
oven "hibernated"
poultry skin...
   and cartilage... of any sort.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
we went fishing, we went cycling...
the best years
circa 2002 through to some other
circa...
we went to forever distant places...
we allowed ourselves to
stomach heights of mountains...
now come to "think" of it...
i have tabloid and graffiti where
bow-ties and mourning should be...
the world just preserves
this insistence to continue:
with or without a status quo...
because today i am shuffling into
a currency: the world so happens...
the anglophone sphere is
insomniac awaiting election
results... i'm hardly invested in it...
i wish to be so oh so concerned...
that i might forget - yet now remember:
the reconquista of much
of europe for the ottoman turks...
but it's not like the turks are arabs...
never mind...
               i itch with skin i tease
myself over an asset that's these eyes...
i sip a glass of water,
ciemnota that is gladly ruled over
by counterfeit, bb'ah'ah... bb'ah'ah...
actors...
less of what's to be done
and more of what's to be...
how i imagine myself being (a) man
rather than doing the expected
manly-"thing"...
          if it was oh so simple
that we were all born turtles...
with knowledge of plumbing apparatus....
i am less as being
and forever diminishing as having
done... employed by a "miracle"
of the undo...
               revision quest...
there's no reality of a gaping hole
or: ex nihil stalking me:
  no: born of death....
              latin! latin!
          natus ex mors...
we went fishing and how we bicycled
around a never-ending stupidity
how i extended my youth
while you preserved your old age...

grandma was a ***** to the last...
no?
  3 months to spare...
she could have noted: he's not feeling
well... some aid would be nice...
i feel cheated my heart
thrown into a heap of stones...
i'm expecting a heaving lung
in return...
not this close...
not from family this anger arch... ing
to subdue my unfathomable
shadow, come noon,
come the moon:
puppet! how's lore?!

she could have called and said:
instead of 2 day's worth of baggage:
you're in the hospice breathing
your last...
i wake up to a tomorrow
and hear the north.east.west.south...
apparently you're dead...

for all those estranged examples
of dictated family...
i should have extracted ms. *****
from your wife: my grandmother:
how she would suddenly be found
gloating: pinning you to
a pampers **** soaked... etc.
gruesome details: n'est ce pas?

she was so adamant about inheriting
your pension...
she was moreover adamant
on me taking out 500zł each day:
it's not like you amassed a lot of savings
to begin with...

over 7K... dutiful grandson...
i remember when she first encouraged me....
you were drunk and i would be stealing
pennies from your trouser pockets
left hanging on a chair in a room
of much darkening...

well... there's no unthinking this one
through: i'm the better drunk than
you will ever be: i fathom a need to
write some odd doodle while you
were exhausting the last remains
of memory cinema...

i'm gaining friction from people who
have started to notice:
i am not using english
with any orthodoxy, catholicism or
the sushi entree of protestantism...
looks like this language
i alone must own:
i will not be among the throng
of false prophets speaking
to the natives for corrections...

i own all that is readily available...
the natives can go burn
wickers and churches: in all honesty!

TUMANY...

                   it's theirs? they loosely(,)
just disguised themselves:
as... hinter...
          and the lapsing of aggrieved:
solo quests...
their native language doesn't translate
back...
it's theirs or is it simply mine?
how much this integration will allow...
i need more heads decapitated
saluting lazy tongues on pikes:
i am sure!
before the zombies will start sleeping: again!

if i were to stress my:
formality all too readily...
i remember days when we used to go
to school...
and meningitis was rife...
and a rifle too...
and we complied to the details
of the herd...

but not this, not now...
i can get a haircut i also can:
sure as hell wait for an irritating death
from a toothache!
sooner the pains from
a bad-hair-day...
i'm waiting for my teeth to
grow into fangs...
into elephant-esque tusks...
since my mouth will be unable
to impossibly keep them...
but my hair is more prompted
as: kept attention of "detail"...

suicide never made more sense:
all the excuses are in situ:
on the ready...
and i wouldn't even want
to blame these explorers...

             as ever: english in the "gulag":
how dasein translates into
"concern":
how happiness could ever be
substituted for inquisitiveness...
mind you: my eyes are darting
fathoming a whirlwind...
a roller-coaster...

i was debriefed by happiness
once...
i left the same sullen & sulk
signature as i ever might...
it didn't budge teasing an amassing
zombie-feud...
to begin or end with...
after all... i was born into a land-mass
that once claimed pride...
from sea to sea:
the baltic and the black sea
was, "in question"...

land-locked manoeuvres -
too many ******* vowels!
too many ******* vowels!
              there was a part of me
that somehow understood the genius
of the russians:
hence all that jazz of russophobia...
but there was no need
for claustrophobia and a siberia
pairing...
ugly feelings: mostly hurt...
or somewhat...
the terrible price of disgruntling
a slab of turk:
having confused it with a slobbering
over, over a camel jockey's arab
surprise...

saudi promises regarding
yemen...
                and all that was to remain
of bahrain...
like syria...
thank god for the closures
of the "ummah"...
bite the horn: ring the tonsils:
a church bell's worth of an uvula!
tongue this gluey
extract: my teeth a soothing
coming together: hey presto!
a shell for this slothing cringe
feast...

my grandmother with 3 months spare...
you told me:
ring me each month...
check up on my whereabouts...
i could have expected so much
from strangers...
"fwends"...
not from the ugliest
floral pattern of **** that was
a granny..
you were a drunk:
i'm a better drunk of the whole lot
of us two: twinned...

this unrelenting presence:
to have been allowed witness of your body
so well fashioned for
a funeral: mr. navy...
mr. now...
            
        i suppose a thank you is in order...
81 years in waiting is
the only way to die...
there's no need to tease turtles
with envy that extends into
a century...

now i want to remember edinburgh
through 2004 to 2007...
it could have been manchester...
it could have been an itch
like southampton...
pressure me... creases of
a Penzance... reverse the tide i probably
couldn't...

perhaps i want to chase learning
a game of chess...
perhaps i want to relive those summers
i lay on the balcony and read
the books i read..
in your abrahamic *****...
cheap-chow-mein-of-wording...
here's me... better clued-in...
better suited to sniffing the *****-feel
of 1980s pop music...

little ol' grandma i will hardly:
perhaps at best in my heart
i'll be wanting to **** on her grave...
perhaps i was expecting
something dramatic...
some phenomenon...
naturally... esque-borne revelation...
some earthquake some
waking into...

not how you seemingly "merely", "passed"....
ol' grandma: i wish to have her
shackled into a niqab: because
i last sentence these provocations
when i wilt to solve the crossword puzzles
with a 7am and a coffee...

death didn't rob me of what
you had already stressed:
the mortal feign...
            i had 3 months to spare...
detail for me the breaking
of the riddle of conscience...
                 i have to heave this last
salvage pin-point...

while "we" must be dictating....
people's loop
crescendo limiting bogus....
hey no new presto!
welcome
to grief... the limbo cowing-tie...
my litany of arbeit:
macht... frei...

             now that i dare
merely think it...
robespierre...
                 i heave ol'
yo-yo... because no one
would heave such
exhaustions.
When I was young I thunk Chicklet was quite the sassy, saucy dish:
double stitching ******, stripping for money, eating discounted fish
and majoring in alcoholics while imitating crapped-out Lillian Gish
******* on Easter portraits to the wall as that was her Easter wish
Let's force our greasers punked up on acid to pay steep border taxes
to seat obese Arizonian ******* witches in lawn chairs that relaxes
intestinal tracts south of ghettos, west of any congress that backs us
with terminally benignant tumors on communitarians who tracks us
befouling a eugenically, puritanically Marxian, hocus-pocus praxis
Back, back into the hobo camps of our most viciously-local hordes
a ****, ******, blondish woman of 25 can strain folded vocal cords
Girly bodies are Lord-filled temples, like carriages carrying gourds
as Jerry and Betty were just 2 of the rat-milking, rat-breeding Fords
You as a scoffing ******* are, of course, free to freely scoff
but don't till you've walked in my 2 shoes with both legs blown off
knowing that these lung-replacement problems began with a cough
while doing ****** under bridges is worser than a rental apartment
or wiping up gooey filth in New Stanton's G.M. dental department
as only niacin will **** cannibal queen Beth's mental bombardment
Cast your queer leer to the queerest of baited states: Massachusetts
that has granulated Hillary's lesbian **** above where her ***** sits
Iraqi citizens saw the free eye surgery provided by Saddam Hussein
as a surgical gift of vision freely given by their sad man who's sane
as opposed to the mayor of Bangor proposing a sand dam in Maine
In an empire failing Americans find Uncle Sam ****** in Bahrain
Trifling things shall not diminish my reverence for Miss Kitty Ting,
despite the fact that her '67 suicide made moot mere mortal atoning
from Diana's birthing moon where Earthen-Human souls are placed
in 0-72-hour newborns after old-corpse memories have been erased
K.F.C.'s M.S.G. excito-toxins made Harland Sanders a river dancer
before he crapped out from acute leukaemia & chicken liver cancer
Safana Oct 2021
The rain...in the rain
We walk through to drain
We talk about all refrain
To support some with a grain
Those who can't go to Bahrain
Sun shined upon the sleepy town of 6,000,000. It was just another morning for the multi-talented Crap Lewis. Carefully or leisurely he rose from bed as not to waken either of the 2 extraordinarily young & desirably naked women sandwiching him. He was a man's man, a scholar & gentleman & never used the words **** or ******, ex.: I can't ****, I'm a ******. How many ******* did you ****?
   Hungry for news **** Lewis opened the newspaper. “Hmm,”
he spat, “looks like there's been another ****** uprising!”
   5 o'clock Crap hires an executive jet to fly his **** to Bahrain. 9 a.m. next day Crap takes nap. Noon: Crap bones British princess.

— The End —