On the night we heard John Smith had died,
I knew that my faith would abide.
As we lay together
My thoughts wandered nether,
Where Cherie was opened up wide.
On that twelfth of May, ninety-four,
Real potency banged at my door.
She gave me my strength
And assured me my length
Would be greater than any before.
I followed my instinct, a beast,
On her Caplinised whatsits to feast.
Premonitions of George
Made me further engorge,
And discharge of my weapon, due east.
Ho there, landlord! A pint of your finest brain bleach, if you please!
ReplyDeleteOn second thoughts, make that two pints...
So I have this friend right,who sometimes has problems in that department.
ReplyDeleteDo you think it would help if I,I mean my friend, were to have MI5 kill my boss and then steal his job?It worked for Bambi,it seems.