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  1. #1
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Wrote this today... What do you think?

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWdcZqG02Ls


    The days of David Dundas

    He put on his blue jeans did Dundas and went a motorbike riding in the sun and the wind, and the rain. Everything was good because he had a tiger in his tank, so he says? Well, so he sings?
    It is a good song I must admit, but alas I fear that he has never been in the wind and rain on a motorbike or even owned an old pair of blue jeans for that matter: thatís because he has never had a pair long enough to become shrunken and worn. Heíd be singing a different tune if they cut in between his buttock crack like a speedy cyclist with misted glasses whose late for work.

    He is the son of a Baron and lords it up on fish eggs and pigs heads with apples stuffed in their mouths: their nostrils streaming with cooking fat and wedged pickled onions injected with garlic. Itís a surprise cuisine that is plucked out when Snot Unusual is put on the old foghorn record player. Theyíll laugh and barf and quaff and dig into assortments of cheese from a plate that Rupert will lay his penis on and tell everyone Ďthis one is homemade.í Everyone will guffaw with even more gusto because thatís just what posh people do.

    Ruperts clothes are an assortment of smokers jackets and plastic bags full of dirty expensive underwear that he plans to bin when he gets round to giving them to the tiny old toadstool maid. If he had his way heíd have a slim-line beauty at his beck and call; one he could frolic with and show heís a man by eating beasty afterbirth from mummyís horse riding school. ĎItís an aphrodisiací heíd say as the juices cascade over his chin and he gets his Percy out yet again. In his mind the maid will pull him towards her, stretching old Percy Percy like a child with a worm; sheíll then celebrate her beauty with globules of cuckoo spit flying through the air: a super excuse if caught with shiny beads resting on her chin and hair.

    He is known in the village as an anorak... a stain on your new suede shoes: a melted lipstick in the pocket of a transvestite being sentenced to death on an electric chair for collecting cockís, like Sweeney Tiddler the Penis Riddler who arranged them in small medium and large, before nailing them to his living room wall in order and in place of his old fashioned flying ducks.

    No, heís just a poet is David, and not a very good one at that. He hasnít seen life: just daydreams of life through the flickering flames of his large fireplace front room. Oh but heís rogered many a horse riding filly, so heíll tell you, and sleeps on huge bloated bed mites that grow fatter and fatter on protein enriched diets from the girlís dribbling mouths.

    You gotta love him though and all the other ruperting Rupertís in England. They give champagne nights to those same horse riding jaunting jaunterís that pull their knickers down and lie on their backs, legs up to perform a flatulent fanfare before Ruperts quartet are up to sing with telltale lumps in their check trousers .

    All Rupertís die of natural causes, from treeís that fall on them in dangling participles.



  2. #2
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Aug 2010
    Posts
    688

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    Hey Martin, this is interesting, but I think it should be: butt crack, or at least, his buttocks.

  3. #3
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    Oh yeah... well done, mate. You' no I read it back to myself on preview a great many times.. then slammed it on here and instantly saw a rake of mistakes

  4. #4
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    I am Martinian the great. You all must bow a single bow: not two or three, just the one will do

    A deliberate landslide I thought it was, and while walking my dog in desert grain and baked noodle grass of the 77 heat wave. It was a landslide of slithering kids on plastic bags for sledges, and all with their slithering noses and rag tag gypsy clothesís. They zoomed by me at breakneck speedington, I hope! and were about to crack with sickly snaps their tiny bonesís that keeps them at homesís, in caravans with street fighter dadís with six pack abs, and baking mumís with wobbly tumís that swear and drink beer while shouting at mutts with one ****ing ear, where toilet paper waves hello on top of stiff Grenadier guard turdís next to dead birds from a pigeon fancier show. They had rings on their shins, these birds on the wing and were shot from the sky in the eye, by and by, by one of the ragtagellers: the shmagglers and fagglers and car boot hagglers. He sells the rings to whoever wins, when he said that he caught it, in a village near Dorset and received fifty pounds to buy more rounds...

    for his pump action air rifle.

  5. #5
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    I wrote that today, um this ... whatever day it is?

  6. #6
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    You all only see the explosion of your noses in sneezes and wheezes.



    If I force words to progress against their will, then I am guilty,
    but through my darkest hours I can see only light.

    An infinity is with my freedom of creativity.

    I am unchained

  7. #7
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    Piss off ering...

    Most Women

    My mother: once pretty, became hijacked by a needle and thread that pulled her face down, like an English Mastiffs: hair to boot.
    She also now limps, her hips no longer wriggling for long distance lorry drivers, who crane their necks for panty lines through coffee steam and mouths full of egg and chips.
    Long stints in the sun covered in coconut oil held off time for a while, and with her 70ís lucky clacking wooden bangles stacked on her wrist, as if a neck stretched Aborigine, it seemed she was appealing again: at least from a distance, anyway.
    But soon, like a slow speed camera on a bowl of fruit, but speeded up for more interesting viewing, she became quickly ill and even more haggard. Now she balances on bed pans with her bum cheeks riddled with sores and waiting for a hip operation.
    There aint no going back now!

  8. #8
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Aug 2010
    Posts
    6,016

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    Uh . . . Martin. You're talking to yourself.

    Not that there's anything wrong with it.

  9. #9
    martin shaw
    Guest

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    Wow, and I thought it was someone with the same name as me?

  10. #10
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Mar 2006
    Location
    Ohio
    Posts
    3,866

    Re: Wrote this today... What do you think?

    An episodic soliloquy.

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