Monthly Archives: September 2015

Keeping Mum

I have a kept woman. Sorry. I keep a woman. I can’t get rid of her.
I have been very silly. I told her things.
“I want you.’ I’d said.
“You’ve got me!” she’d replied.

Plus her debts. She has needs. Her ‘shelves’ soon get empty.
I don’t mind the underclothes, in fact insist on what she wears. In fact,
money isn’t the object. The problem is….

She’s started to cling. The body still gets me, but…
The weeping. She’s started to weep. A clinging weeper. A kept wept clinger I’d like to sweep under the carpet. But I am compromised. Christ, I want to hit her!

Later, I arrive home, all miserable. The wife asks is there anything wrong.
I’d love to confide in her. I trust her. She doesn’t cling. She hardly ever weeps.
As for fucking…
“No, darling. It’s nothing”


Blind Justice

We were playing umbrage and I had a bad hand.
I knew it was a setup. The boss told me to get up and get the ketchup
Was all this being recorded? No, the tape was on all pause, common usage and onion.

Yesterday at the local criminal urinal, there’d been a brutal tribal killing, some sort of ritual, a blind man wearing a turban, this murder being followed by a hasty burial.
All this disturbed me greatly and I upset the salt cellar all over the ketchup.
“What the heck! That aint cute!” said boss who looked ready to puke.

Just at that moment, a note was pushed under the bottom of the door;
“Pick it up, useless. Read it.”
I told him it was in braille
“Braille? BRAILLE?” boss started to rail.
Me? I just turned pale.
Turban was on the trail….


Amnesia? How could I forget!
She, the colour of burnt sienna
One of life’s beautiful maidens,
Her name was Jasmine
Also, one of life’s enigmas

We met as inmates on a seminar
She was wearing denims or jeans,
so many images, each one remains
But we had to part and I went insane,
I constantly sent her emails, my stamen arisen forever

One day, at the cinema, I upset her.
I told her I gave enemas
She didn’t mince her words
I tried to make amends, but of no avail, no aisle for us
We became aliens and I joined the marines

Gone Native


Are primitive people clean?
This is a difficult one to answer as there’s been a lack of research in this field. However, it wasn’t in a field that I conducted my investigations. Yes, you guessed it : I went into the jungle !
At first, it was hard going to find a primitive. Times had changed and so had people. But I was lucky. I caught one fishing at the side of a lake. He looked slightly alarmed, hadn’t seen a clean, that is a really clean, person before.
Because he didn’t understand me and I couldn’t him, we – the camera man and crew – were forced to take drastic measures to check his anus. Since this project was my project, inspection was left to me.
I was a bit worried at first he might try to fart me away, but fortunately, he took a shine to me. I thus completed my task to my satisfaction.
Now, we are married.

How’s Business?

There’s always a time turn, turn, turn, am having a funny
one for the road, baby, needs changing, places and faces East of Eden,
nasty park your bum here and Tell me that you’re never going to the pictures, every one of which tells a story Hunky Dunky sat on a Wall Mart eeny meeny miny whiny bitch in time for tea bags your uncle Tom’s cabin bruiser banana.
So how far have we Got to get you into my life, baby, needs changing again for God’s sake! I think I need to go the toilet which means I can’t get down to business whilst doing my business.
How’s yours?


How would I describe myself?
Well, I have a good mind. I see myself as an introverted smoothie.
What do I mean by that?
Well, I have a good opinion of myself, but I keep quiet about it.
False modesty? You mean humblebrag, I suppose. No, that’s
not fair. You asked, you got.
What do I look like?
Not ordinary. Definitely not. Unusual. Freaky? Not at all. Other women
have said I had character. ‘Bold as brass’ I remember one saying. ‘Hard
as nails’ another said. ‘Ugly as sin?’ Never come up so far.
I have the ideal height and am slim. Beard? No, but I could grow one, if required.
Ginger? You must be joking!
Oh. You are.

Click !

God In The Post

I have just had a minor invitation, to go down a savoury shaft.
This fortunate event comes from having placed a personal ad in a local rag. I had been without for far too long and my rod was overflowing.

“Hi! Come in.”
I entered her salon and was greeted by an odorous overture of musk. My head reeled, my rod rose.
“Eh? Oh.. yes please.”
Without saying, next on the agenda was the fanny foray. I felt a touch of guilt for intending to skip foreplay, but my pleasure always came first. I’ve always been a one-night-stand man,

It was short and sweet, no smiles and quick goodbyes. Once home, I poured myself a drink to celebrate, to be topped off with a pipeful of Royal Yacht.
I reached into my coat pocket.
God! I Where was God? I’d lost God! My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?

Suddenly, the ‘phone rang.
“You forgot your pipe”
“Ah yes!
I cursed. It was the musk. I had been overcome by the musk!
“I’ll pop-”
“I’ve just posted it”