Some Er Daze
Written by Iam Hanuman on Tuesday the 11th of January 2011
Hot isn't it, Sally? Hot here in the tropics with the belt sunning down and nothing being worn but a frown. And there YOU are with him. That other, that petrol-eater - that honey pie sniffer who so berated me when I was on top of your fleshy arm.
And THERE he is, with his spotty face and 'spensive 'smile and I hate him.
He hates me, I know, Sally. I know he does because he writes me letters in scritchy scratchy code words akin to something BIBLICAL and just know that you are TOO right that I would like to see him suffer at the scourge plague swelter slaughter stone.
He is lying there on a sticky beach recliner sweating the syrup out of his loose hair and I am pissing on him with my eyes.
He doesn't know that one though, does he Sally? He don't know THAT particular nugget because you YOU haven't opened that particular enzyme to him. Nonchalant, pants high, waving, you pass him to come to me and take it all again and I give and i'm a slap stupid drip but at least he is being ruined.
He will continue in that wayne and you SALLY will wish to retour the islands of my existence, take a ferry to the many celebrated ports, scoot through the dingy, weedy lagoon to the Venice centre and you will find me right at that point UP IN THE AIR IN MY BIG BALLOON.
I may come down for you on an occasion but you will not have me again Sally Silly - you have made your pastey and wastey lard bed and you can lie with him.
Well to you.