Category Archives: sex

What happened to peace, love and understanding? (Would you believe, this happened to a friend of mine…)

Hard Headed woman.

After another week of our boss giving us yet more grief
I headed into the cosy bar for a little Friday night relief,
It was a workmates birthday, I felt obliged to celebrate,
I thought  I’d sent a text to say I would be home at eight.

I never received her reply.

I swear I only had one beer, then a wee drop o’ scotch
When I chanced to glance down at my broken watch,
Was I deluded in thinking I could believe that bitty toy?
The night was young and so was the birthday girl-er, boy.

Strange how time slips by.

Drinks were drunk and soon my quiet night grew loud,
And then I saw a(double) vision stand out of the crowd,
Suddenly I forgot she was the daughter of my bosses brother,
Suddenly I felt no fidelity towards my significant other.

But I felt that tingle in my thigh.

I blame the drink, I blame the passion in her eyes,
But I didn’t fancy facing her, hungover, come sunrise,
I left her snoring in her room, slipped away like a jerk,
Come Monday I’d find workplace romances do not work.

And I’d kissed my job goodbye.

But in the here and now, in the cold light of the day
My usually ever-understanding partner tells me to f- go away,
Ignoring my gentle taps tap upon the door, then my heavy knocks,
No sweet-talking her round this time, she’s changed the locks.

She’s not letting this sleeping dog lie.

That hard hearted woman won’t answer text or call,
That woman’s got me beating my head against the wall,
Why, she always knew what kind of butt-headed man I am?
Now neither she nor this thick brick wall will give a damn.

Oh, what a bone-headed bloody fool am I.

The final curtain call for Doris Day. A lovely person, apparently, but her screen persona was quite, shall we say, twee?

YesterDay.

We say goodnight to Doris today,
At ninety-seven she’s faded away,
No more virtuous parts will Doris play,
Bye, Americas eternally virginal sweetheart.

Perpetually preppy peppy Doris Day,
No movie dared show her going astray,
Not the kind of girl to take a roll in the hay,
Always the sweet girl-next-door, never the tart.

‘No no no’ our Doris must always say,
No petting, no rucking up of the duvet,
No deflowering of Doris, no hint of foreplay-
Not even with Rock Hudson gayly playing his part.

Doris was forever doomed to portray
The gal who favoured pajamas over negligee,
The blonde who’d kneel before bed- and pray!
No impassioned puckering could prise her lips apart.

The Rolling Stones front man goes under the knife for a little bit of maintenance. Time waits for no man, Mick my boy.

Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.

Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.

A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.

Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.

Thinking back on them good(?) ol’ school days, of pimply adolescence, tough lessons and first silly soppy juvenile teenage love.

Greasy Kids Stuff.

It was the first day of February and one thing was clear,
I was never ready to face this bright new school year,
A step up towards High school, and higher learning
Left this poor student with his poor stomach churning.

A spotty youth, a third former, the lowest of the low,
Puberty was kicking in, and it was beginning to show,
Pimples and blackheads blighted this once fresh face,
As soon as one eyesore faded, two more took its place.

I did learn three things on my first day at Hagley High,
The first was to say ‘yessir’, and never ever question why,
Second, the Headmaster held more authority than God above,
Third, I fell for a girl, with all the pure passion of puppy love.

This girl was The One, the one I worshiped from afar,
This girl lit up my darkest nights, like a shooting star,
My last thought before I slept, my first come the morn,
I was besotted by a girl who didn’t know I’d been born.

I wondered how and when I could chance to meet her,
I practiced the perfect words with which I would greet her,
I alone could see she her realise our stars were destined to align;
So sad, the dreams of a short-pantsed pimply Frankenstein.

I made my approach, in the lonely corridor there was only her and I,
I tried my long practiced patter, but my throat was bone dry…
To see the one you want to want you with all your being
Waltz past you, eyes all a’sparkle, oblivious, unseeing…

It is better to have loved and lost, some do say. I say, ‘yeah, right.’

Anniversary Blues.

Sometimes it’s the simple little things;
The way a new sprung sparrow witlessly sings,
Now, what a hollow feeling that birdsong brings
And dark thoughts of a sunny day and wedding rings.

…On the beach, on the sand,
A gleam of gold on her left hand,
A joyous time for our happy band,
And did we not say ‘ain’t love grand?’

Of one thing we two were sure,
Our love was unadulterated and pure,
For evermore she’d be my one amour,
Our love was truly bound to endure.

Winter came, left me chilled to the core,
The cold I hold in my heart has yet to thaw,
The view we’d shared, of that golden shore
Offers me not warmth nor comfort anymore.

It might be the sight of a gull wheeling on high,
A touch of white, up in a clear bright blue empty sky,
Down here I’m alone to hear its stupid senseless cry
Cruelly tail off in the wind, to drift, to fade, to die.

A free-wheeling but badly balanced tale of exercise, weight loss and loss of dignity.

All Downhill.

I’d been parked up slothfully on the couch
Hands comfortably folded on my spreading pouch
When my wife’s gaze went from the athletes on the telly
And settled reprovingly on my burgeoning belly.

So, I lay down my bottle of Bud and bowl of Lays
Vowing I would put behind me my couch potato days,
Out back in the garage lay my old bike, forgotten and dusty,
Abandoned, muddy, bespattered, cruddy and crusty.

Years ago I had enjoyed pedaling hell for leather
Braving life, limb and hypothermia whatever the weather,
Then I’d found myself out of luck, control and flying off course,
Now, after a decade of decadence, I was remountin’ the horse.

For hours I cleaned, checked, fussed and fettled,
Then back into the saddle I comfortably resettled,
The tyres gave a hiss of disapproval and began to deflate;
Time to pump the perishing tyres and lose some weight.

My old lycra shorts also fit a bit tighter
Than when I’d been fit and tons lighter,
But it takes a lot of guts to tighten and cinch
Pants that can fit, butt at a pinch.

Off I wobbled towards my happy trails,
Hoping to stay on the path, not go off the rails,
From atop the mount the way narrowly wound;
It’s impact on me would be most profound.

I looked down that slippery slope,
Offered up a prayer and the earnest hope
That the older wiser me had learnt from my mistakes-
Then simply prayer when I found I lacked brakes.

I found myself taking a high flying jump,
I scarcely missed landing on a sturdy stump,
How fortuitous my newfound Lord heard my heartfelt call
And had a handy bush of thorns to break my fall.

But it was not a happy landing,
I was left incapable of standing,
For a big boy’s mountain bike needs a stout brace,
And that brace struck me in my happy place.

Now I’m on my comfy sofa, laid back,
Hand uncomfortably cupping an ice pack,
Till I can stand and recover from the bars low blow,
No more a ‘mountain biking will this guy go.

Sarah Huckabee Sanders actually gave an interview that lasted longer than ten seconds. For the Christian Broadcasting Network. Heaven help her, and us.

Hard To Believe.

Sarah Sanders says it was surely Gods will
That President was the role Don was predestined to fulfill,
The Lord chose him as His earthly vessel, so she says;
If her word is true, the Lord sure do work in mysterious ways.

So, in what version of the Good Book is it said
That Don can casually fornicate outside the marriage bed,
Then spare no expense to silence another cheap tart?
Bless ‘im, he’s serving himself and the Good Lords counterpart.