"toupee" poems
At this time of my life
I find myself wearing hats…
I’m not happy with my head you see,
In short, being able to see it
it just doesn’t thrill me.
Not through those depressing, disappearing strands.
So it’s that time - It’s hat time!
Hats are warm, comforting things;
take it off and, for a while at least,
it feels still there - a phantom hat.
Not quite as spooky or worrying
as a phantom arm or leg - after that
severed limb thing, but right there!
It really is that time - It’s hat time!
My Grandma Lamplough,
that’s on my mother’s side,
was an avid knitter of things to order,
She was even a freelancer for Jaeger…
matinée jackets, mittens, cardies, pullovers
But in later days mostly just tea cosies.
If there was no immediate customer in mind…
“Everybody needs a cosy and one size fits all”
she would say… and anyway,
commissions were rare for cosies back in the day
She’d wear it boldly herself
with handle and spout slots front & back, proud
She’d start the next one and announce
to every visitor right out loud…
”Hey…Do you want a cosy for your ***
Mr Watling, the milkman, he had quite a lot!
But then he showed up every day!
A quart is it Mrs L?… and yes, I WILL have a cosy today!
Me? I’ve never fancied a toupee, wig
or go in for a Bobby Charlton tribute gig ….
I’ll be happy just to settle for a beret,
news boy or Fedora… to hide the offending pate
and avoid the comb over till a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll maybe settle for Grandma’s cosy special?
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC
I woke from sleep and looked outside today
to see that spring has sprung from infancy,
grass still wearing some snow like a toupee
and squirrels that are all but finicky.
I try to process all this imagery,
but my emotions are over my head,
so I sit in bed and smile wistfully.
I could be forthright with what should be said
and risk that it is misinterpreted,
or I could keep it in and let it go
and watch the opportunity lie dead.
Each spring a rose must bloom to be full grown
and blossom for everybody to see,
it's time I show the world who I can be.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Shoeboxes in the upstairs prove
when veins were tight and hair was
that shining, gleaming, streamin,’
flaxen, waxen stuff of the 70s.
You would laugh if you could see
him in a toupee, shoulders broadened
against the end of a night shift, billy club
swinging steady by his side;
She, beautiful like Grace Kelly,
with high definition cheek bones,
her smile Rainbow Bright enough
to call the curtains down
and leave them that way forever.
But red velvet shrouds over them still;
His shoulders curve under tax forms and
knee replacements, cancer spots on his bladder and nose.
She plays with the extra turkey skin on her neck,
frowns at the grooves around her mouth.
The audience sees more than we want to.
They fade from unblemished black and white
into garish Technicolor,
Twenty-nine years
of dinner, ***** dishes left in the sink,
root canals, cat food cans,
******* stickers, laundry to fold, that milk
might be a week old.
They go on and I love them
for the death of romance,
for the things they've folded away in shoeboxes
for me to find.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
She was working cashier at the burger place
Boss was always dissing her hair
All the piercing, on her body and face
It wasn't ever right, or fair
She was taking take out orders over by the grill
Keeping eyes on the pockets of grease
That's when she saw me, ooo she saw me
I walked into the out line, out line
I wore a raspberry toupee
The kind ya buy in a used toupee store
Raspberry toupee
If it was warm, sweating out of every pore
Raspberry toupee
I think I love her
Built like I was
I had the nerve to ask her
If her buns were really warm and hard
So, I winked
That's when she hit me
slapped me with a greasy frying pan
and beat me, with a tub of lard
I say now, burger days used to turn me on
But something about my plans with her nixed
I wasn't all to bright
But I could tell when she beat me
She knew how to deliver her kicks
I wore a raspberry toupee
The kind ya buy in a used toupee store
It was a raspberry toupee
If it was warm, sweating out of every pore
Raspberry toupee
I think I love her
The pains make me scream, almost every day
All the customers wonder who I am
My bandages hide, just what she sees
Sitting down, am still seeing stars
Listen
They say the first words ain't the greatest
But I tell ya
If I had the chance to do it all again
I wouldn't say a thing
'Cause my bodies in a sling
With a girl as strong as she was then
I wore a raspberry toupee
The kind ya buy in a used toupee store
It was a raspberry toupee
If it was warm, sweating out of every pore
It was a raspberry toupee
I think I, I think I, I think I love her!
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
A speechless hill enthused with history, stands tall.
Breathtaking,gracing the skyline of Winchester.
From the morning train, I see Lady Catherine in all her glory.
A toupee of trees on the top, discard leaf litter, as it tumbles.
Body of plague victims interred deep in the hill.
An iron-age hill fort, a barrow minus wheels.
Teeming.
This hill’s alive with wildlife.
Steeped with history.
Stagger to the top of the beautiful beast, peep at the miz maze, a weird design.
Rest awhile, realise how beautiful it is.
Let peace be the only thing up there, to come and invade your space.
Well worth the climb, now to get down; she's not far off perpendicular.
Gratefully wander down the man-made rickety steps.
Touch base, look up, further survey the climb you just made.
Relish those charms of St Catherine.
OLIVIA 2014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
She took my breath away
just by her being near
Her long red ginger hair
Her dangerous curves, her sparkling pair
of eyes that chanced to look my way
Just as the wind snatched my toupee
(That knocked the wind out of my sail)
That left me paunchy, bald and pale.
I guess I might as well inhale.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 9:04 AM UTC
Thee gnome had called
hymm mein flatterer, then
an ape fight for quills, to be
or naught, hidden by a hive
patch of bramble. Do ordinance
iris search of apart theorhetic sea,
Adeiu mostly, can wearwolves
as sultry be known to chew
rawhide bones teethlesslee.
Gather by a dared deity
of A Roman's antiquity,
all of course to femine
posterity. An Aye for Aye,
a sythe to seize do naught
ii and cling. For better is yet
to OyYea' and I, causes instantly
be and bee.
cliche toupee'
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
. . . of incantations in
cantankerous philosophy!
Of these lying liabilities,
what startling objection, so accosting,
has exhausted me? More so than
named quite unfortunate atrocity!
Shall hordes of thought be accursed
by degrees of displeasing hostility
such that satiated curiosity
be evermore abashed in me?
“. . . but I have admonished thee,”
said he,
this subtle, blackened tenant
with a tin man's tonality.
This paper drum that bends to sing
does beg of him the courtesy;
yet, acrid rhetoric singes the hair
with unfavorable flintlock fidelity.
His evasive guarantee then
upends the pores relentlessly.
*“These words will compel a poor
foresight to bleed in the fray
as cascading tears cast their weight
upon cheek in dismay . . .”*
. . . to quash the cypress toxin
of a caustic potpourri—
a dissembling toupee
to one's balding reality.
O lasting opacity
of such poignant translucency,
this flagrant serendipity,
once spawned, must always be?
Possibly; though, I cannot count
how many sets see dawns at sea.
“. . . but I have astonished thee,”
said he
through this Möbius rebuttal
like some soap on TV,
though, it’s ne'er some rerun
what’s cliché wants creativity.
The veiling lee of his lofty marquee
beclouds that one pyrrhic mystery—
that now-clandestine oblation
of one bless'ed unanimity.
*“Akin to a twin whose soul’s
one sin was mine to portray.
‘I’ll pay ne’er a thought!’
curs’ed common naïveté . . .”*
. . . and yet, that's cause to bend
reverent knee, not to thee,
but to that which mine
eye's sole endeavor is to see.
“So, leave me be!”
I lament, ostensibly,
“Lest that passage fall paved
by none other than me.”
Perhaps the Second World war
is just my cup of tea.
“. . . or perhaps this darkness is me,”
said he
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
I saw an ad in the local paper
A reunion for the class of 54
I decided I would attend
I’ve never been to one before
It should be grand and lots of fun
So I rented a tux and black tie
Put new batteries in me hearing aid
Bought a wig and polished me eye
I emptied a bottle of old spice
Did me toupee nice with brylcream
I soaked me teeth in steredent
Then gargled with some Listerine
I soon arrived in splendid form
Smelling my very best
It was held in a hall at an old folks home
A place called the shady rest
It’s the fortieth year and it’s very clear
Every one is out to impress
Even the Janes that was always plain
Wore their most elegant dress
They came round with name tags
But didn’t have one for me
Then suddenly I remembered
I was in the class of 53.
©Hazel
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
All of this just so happened
With the saying of one simple phrase
"Beam me up Scotty"
Was all The Captain had said
But all that came aboard
Was Captain Kirk's toupee
Never did they see James again
After that fateful day
Now Captain Kirk's toupee
Is the one that's running the ship
Barking out its orders
From where the Captain once sat
It's little wonder the toupee and the crew
Don't see eye to eye
As it continues throughout its screaming
Can't you see I need more warp drive
With Scotty hollering back
I'm giving her all that's she's got
Thinking the whole time the Captain's toupee
Would make a good galley mop
Spock while all this is happening
Struggles to keep a straight face
Which is really hard for a Vulcan to do
When dealing with a demanding toupee
Of course like James T. Kirk
His toupee has a thing for alien gals
Which leaves the ladies throughout the galaxy
All with a bad taste and hair in their mouths
And not to mention the trouble with the Klingon's
Now they have no idea what to say
How in the world do you wage war
When your arch enemy is a bad toupee
It's little surprise this all lead to a mutiny
Of the Starship Enterprise crew
The day they grabbed the toupee
And ran to the transporter room
They all wondered what took them so long
The idea it was so blatantly simple
As they beamed away Kirk's toupee
Down to the surface of the Planet of Tribble's
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
The jagged pebbles poked and dimpled my body
as I sat on the shore of Aleutian Alaska.
Each rock was dusted with patches of grass like an old man’s tangled toupee…
Not that the epic beauty of nature should be compared to
something so artificial and ugly.
The air was so cold and crisp that its fresh purity burned my peeling nose.
I am not a Native Alaskan.
I feel like an alien spectator, blemishing this astounding autonomous habitat…
But I am trying not to disturb the locals.
I haven’t seen any grizzlies yet, which maybe I should be happy about.
I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s meal-
What was that?
A puff.
An exhale.
A lingering ghost waltzed atop the water and faded.
Further down the bank I saw more dancing vapors.
Is that what it looks like when a whale comes up for air?
I have never seen how their breath shoots up the water like that.
The mist is like a ballroom dance class
swaying and skirting about the glossy, smooth surface.
Speechless…
Do you remember in elementary school how you knew everything about animals?
What was who and who was where and why?
I forgot a lot.
I forgot that whales are mammals, needing air just as I do.
Obviously, they can hold their breath longer… But I still try to hold on.
I guess those fun facts that you collected as a kid fade as you grow older.
All those little things get whisked away,
And waltz until they dissipate in the wind.
Against all reluctances,
We inhale.
We exhale.
And we forget some things along the way.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
Alcohol encourages unusual behaviors,
As many may attest;
The fruit of drunkenness,
Embarrassment.
When I was ten, I saw a thing,
I've been reluctant to report,
But 45 years have come and gone,
And I find I have to tell someone
The tale of Christmas at my Gran's.
The neighbors came by invitation,
Arriving in style for a rural celebration,
In steady form, as alcoholics will maintain,
Little wobble in their walk,
Little slurring in their conversation.
What struck us into consternation,
Was Charlie's hairpiece, new and black,
Banded at one end, a horsetail piece,
Inverted and trimmed into a toupee,
How he'd figured out the thing,
Only alcohol could say.
The evening was funny,
With everyone not staring,
Taking sideways glances,
I'd say, "Please pass the peas,"
And look the other way,
Grinning slyly at my brother,
I ignored the warning glares
Coming from our mother.
The dining room grew warm,
With food and warming ovens,
My father trying to lead a conversation
About cows, and horses, Grandma's fritters,
Anything to keep the room from titters.
When old Charlie commenced sweating,
The crow-ish blackness of his hair
Revealed its shoe polish beginnings,
Trickling down behind his ears,
And then a rivulet released its flow
To wend its way beside his nose,
And dripping, dripping down, began
To drench his shirt, first the collar,
Vaulting lapels to his middle,
Until a river of black sweat
Drove to his belt, and trickled in.
T'was all that I could do
To look the other way,
To put Gram's napkins to my grin,
As Charlie's horse tail wig ran threads
Of shoe black down his nose and chin.
To this day, I cannot recall
Just how the evening ended,
I only know that afterwards,
For years, the family extended
The tale of Charlie's Christmas spree:
White shirt, horse toupee, and black ink,
Caused our parents to bring warnings
Of the dire consequence of drink.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
All of this just so happened
With the saying of one simple phrase
"Beam me up Scotty"
Was all The Captain had said
But all that came aboard
Was Captain Kirk's toupee
Never did they see James again
After that fateful day
Now Captain Kirk's toupee
Is the one that's running the ship
Barking out its orders
From where the Captain once sat
It's little wonder the toupee and the crew
Don't see eye to eye
As it continues throughout its screaming
Can't you see I need more warp drive
With Scotty hollering back
I'm giving her all that's she's got
Thinking the whole time the Captain's toupee
Would make a good galley mop
Spock while all this is happening
Struggles to keep a straight face
Which is really hard for a Vulcan to do
When dealing with a demanding toupee
Of course like James T. Kirk
His toupee has a thing for alien gals
Which leaves the ladies throughout the galaxy
All with a bad taste and hair in their mouths
And not to mention the trouble with the Klingon's
Now they have no idea what to say
How in the world do you wage war
When your arch enemy is a bad toupee
It's little surprise this all lead to a mutiny
Of the Starship Enterprise crew
The day they grabbed the toupee
And ran to the transporter room
They all wondered what took them so long
The idea it was so blatantly simple
As they beamed away Kirk's toupee
Down to the surface of the Planet of Tribble's
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
That dress was on sale.
Oh he's just a friend.
I don't care if you're poor,
I'm with you til the end.
It's okay...no really...
I swear I'm not mad.
You're by far the best lover
that I've ever had.
I'm not into looks,
I want a sensitive lover.
Not tonight I have a headache.
I do like your mother!
We have to break-up,
but it's not you it's me.
That dent in the car?
That was there already!
I had a great time.
Hope to see you again.
Babe, you're way better
looking than your best friend.
Size doesn't matter,
it's not that big a deal.
A toupee? You're kidding!
I thought it was real!
McDonald's is fine
I'm not into money.
Oh at first I didn't get it,
but that joke was funny!
This old thing? What ever!
This dress ain't new.
It's just a night out with the girls!
Come on, I trust you!
These are lies that are told by bad women.
Silly ****** chicks" playing dumb games.
You would never hear those pass the lips of...
Us intelligent, sweet, classy dames!
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
I didn't sleep last night
Tossing and turning from another body count driven by a terrorist organization with no true goal then to cause mayhem
God take me back to the USSR
The statues of blue collared workers in the streets
It wouldn't matter if you were a carpenter, a doctor, or a farmer.
You were all on the same train heading to your families at the end of the day.
Take me back to the time people didn't profit off the water sold to the thirsty
Take me back to the day when people didn't drive a dollar from the sicks oxygen
By god take me to when a potato farmer wasn't spending more for his dirt then he was getting in return for his natural resources
I am ****** off.
The generation we are growing up in is being coddled.
Our hands don't need to be held because we are forming our own opinions that have been foreign to you.
We believe in what happened behind your door is your business.
Because love is love and we are all in this world together
Your generation has not always picked the best leader.
This time isn't seeming any different.
How can we appoint a man that isn't confident enough to show his bald spot and is forced to wear a toupee.
Well let me tell you something.
America is bald. And there is no toupee to cover up are **** ups
We are not a broken generation we are just being shadowed by forefathers that set guidelines for a corrupt corporate government.
Sit the **** down and give us our voice back
Or we will pack up.
And go back to the USSR
God please take me back to the USSR
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
Living where my mother be
inside america the land of infinite discovery
Utterly
shaken by words the prez is uttering
Bludgeoning the labeled "foreigners" for their said struggling..
i see your ways
Its usually quit disgusting
Grab em by the twuat you will get got and thats for sure
unpure
I hope that soon we get see some gore
i prey that you decay your toupee through the air will soar
Unsure ;
are yall the people which i should be blaming
You asked for this destruction now you ******** and complaining
god ;
How many claim to see through the facade
yet sit and watch their brothers getting buttered by the odds..
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 6:27 PM UTC
In those apricot-tinged nirvana days,
cigar smoke filled the stuffy restaurant in which we ate.
At the table across from us sat a couple in their fourties,
Him, a toupee-wearing, finger-clicking car salesman,
and Her, the blonde in a tight dress,
glossy white mink and even glossier white stilettos.
She talked enthusiastically about the new eastern religions,
Groups that offered "clarity" and "spiritual guidance" to the dissatisfied Miami girls such as herself.
She said that she wanted a new way of life.
(Secretly, she wanted the young guru who'd promised it to her.)
Toupee protested:
"But honey, we ain't no slaves to the machine!"
The gold Casio watch on his wrist and the tacky pearls she sported said otherwise.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
Have you ever felt so distant
You just couldn't connect
Lethargic and emotionally inept
In Financial and moral debt
So to me to welcome death
Would be like I over slept
Theyre called nightmares when asleep but awake it's called regrets
So it's hard not to be depressed
stressed wonderin if my birth today
Made a difference or am I just a spec of dust under trumps toupee
left with nothing deep to say
No courage found to encourage me
to the world im just a villager a 3rd
Worlder, cuz life Honduras'd me
humbled me, it's humbling,
but still I fail to be artistic
Being a human full of temptation
Still erroneously narcissistic
Convoluting what's simplistic
And wanting, to want, so filled
Of **** As the void shifts to over flow the emptiness til unfulfilled
Am I, a contradiction, like I con with diction, as my description
Paints poetic, how pathetic, like **** smelling cologne my depiction
Will still smell like a pool of stool
Can't justify bein my flaws, victim,
When really the fault of addiction
Is self inflicted a decision
Welcoming, compulsory prison
But I rather insult your intelligence
By making *** ups sound elegant
But the truth is there less Eloquent
So every room I enter the elephant
Is an element like it's on salary
That I feed with **** talk like I lead
As the Head of the peanut gallery
Who feeds religiously, hourly
Like bush wit twin towers I grieve it
In pain by its tragedy, but in secret
I Caused but sadly they believe it
When I lie to myself and others and do it Much, I forget what's true
And hoping you'll be less like me
... Is why I confess this to you ....
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
On the riverbanks I toasted the moon
between smooth pebbles and weeds
the silent silver bells tolling out
in tandem with your cries. Daddy
don’t you want more, more, more—
Promethazine Queen and ****** King
your beloved subjects, beatnik
so low compared to New Critics
the antithesis to the highs neither
He, She, nor I have reached yet!
Religious visions in the soup kitchen!
Finding God in the backs of cars
while racing to the back doors
of the hospital her cream colored wings,
found new heights when you OD’d
the backseat confessional as we raced
along toll roads, laughing, out the window towards sea
God you cried out, won’t you dance with me?
Hell right at your feet, yeah sure, I heard
and then out we rolled, down the hills,
into the fishy sewers, their haven
and I wondered is heaven fish chomping
at the bit, and at our toes?
I’ll never know, but on these riverbanks
I start to. On our private shores
transferring from one bank to
another, promising, ***
that our memories are safe
locked inside metal storage lockers,
with police men wearing collars
and every single American dancing
the electric slide to get in with a four
digit pin, they want priceless for the night
for the price of a hundred year of their lives!
They beg for skin to bone loans,
millions of them, something to eat,
chicken—cowards, liars, and thieves
we run on getting drunk with the government
coerced each other, just stick in it, just
stick in, I am wet for the American
dream, and Trump’s toupee, his orange
lips salivating after me, grab me by the *****
Or at the very least release me, us,
the collective minds of our future gen
little boys and girls that will always
have to wonder, why? Did no one like them
and what kind of sins have their
fathers committed towards their mothers,
allegations, perpetuations, I just want
out of my own god **** skin!!!
So every night, before dying
I sleep with chocolate girls melting
into their Hershey *******
their chocolate kisses
or find guys whose vision is
both of us strapped up from the ceiling
Mary and Magdalene, save your children.
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
your slightest movement signified everything you wouldn't say
and the daunting days piled up as you hoarded them all away
we toppled over and crumbled in a drizzly march with a grizzly, gloomy may
june is a troubadour, a roomy humidor for a wealthy fatcat's ratty toupee
wilful ways flutter and stutter in a bluish daze, a risqué soirée
a field day for the crazed, healthy fiancés of disarray and decay
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
that's it
the this of now is where
I am gonna hang my cap hat my
toupee
Then there was when
that day I had long hair
and a goatee
always wet
vigorous , in a way
no doubts no second thoughts
my way or
nothing at all
had two ***** then
now I have three
they sag down lower then
my knees
I dont care anymore
wrinkles around every curve my biceps
turned into droopy triceps
my lower eyelids
into nose bags
my ears into forests
my chin into three of em
that is the way
I live work hard
party when not working and
it took a toll
I just wish the mirror had a mute button
It has started laughing at me
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
!да да да!
darling daughter chews dad's toupee
when she has her fill
Fido takes over
toupee or not toupee
the hairpiece is having
a bad hair day
Fido and next door's doggie
engage in snarling tug o' war
oops that's torn it
dad now looking like a monk
his bald spot badly
sunburnt
darling daughter kisses
where the hairpiece ought to be
claps and slaps: Da...Da...Da. . .DA!"
it is the only word she knows
in Russian
the world is just one big Yes!
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
it's
time
to talk
about death now
one of my favorite
topics
the wonder of it
the finality
is there more to it
or do we become only
fodder for the crematorium
or do we fade
in the big dark box
leaving behind
whatever hair we have left
and our bones
brittle as they may become
what happens when we go there
are we reunited with family
do we sit down and have a chat
about old sunday dinners
and christmas get-togethers
and how much weight
aunt barbara put on
after she divorced that rug salesman
the one with the bad toupee
and who inherited
all that fancy china
from grandmother getz
how do we look when we're dead
- pasty and pathetic -
do we sag do we gossip
do we bowl or play tennis
so much time
nothing but time
and not a clock to be found
and what about heaven and hell
all the time in the world now
to see what everything's about
i wonder if there's music up there
i think i'll look up my neighbor mark
the one who ran off with the brassiere model
i think that he knocked her up and they moved to florida
and then he had a stroke or something and died
but being dead might not be such a bad deal
after all
so many questions
all that time
and all we really want to know for sure is
is there life
after death
at least we'd find out
wouldn't we?
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
for taking my security away, for taking blanket from naked body
I resent like a balding man loses his toupee
scalding hot coffee *** just missing the lap
I fall in love and resent that the gift does not merit consent, the gift does not merit consent
you give a little, you get a little,
that statement is a lie, I will not listen anymore
my love is overwhelming, too perplexing for most to bear, and I am
ousted, laughed at, pigeon holed, left to introspection
left to meal, movie
I fall in love, I give the gift, and I continue breathing
and I get weaker, I resent, I resent
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
The cops, they couldn't see it
but she did, right away
the perp had a small problem
a virtual **** toupee
Overflowing tress', *****
like a Farah Fawcett wig
poking out his zipper
hiding all, that wasn't big
So ware the sexts you send
and don't mistype receiver
sending hairy **** pics
making the ladies gasp
and a hirsute ***** believer
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 11:39 AM UTC