VD Stunt

This ones a bit late (VD stands for Valentine's Day) but here goes:

An Aussie with dire love trouble,

Enclosed himself within a bubble,

Till a thundering blast,

From the depths of his ass,

Reduced his clear sphere into rubble.

Down on the Farm

On the advice of several friends, I have started writing a book on the virtues of my vices. As a result, there is not a lot of time left to continually update the blog. In the meantime, at least until (and in honor of) St. Patrick's Day, I have decided to relay odd bits of news to my three readers in limerick form. The first entry:

With no dignity to undermine,
This man had no great need for a line,
He need buy no minks
Nor fanciful drinks,
For he’d found a love truly bovine.

HST July 18, 1937 - February 20, 2005

Hunter S. Thompson, a true literary giant, took his life yesterday in true Hemmingway fashion by shooting himself in the head. He will be very, very missed. In addition to his incredible writing skills, Thompson was credited for coining the phrase “Gonzo Journalism”, was the inspiration of the Uncle Duke character in Doonesberry and was the subject of two Hollywood movies. He also invented a surefire recipe for the cure for boredom:

"two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine and a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls."

And if that isn't enough to liven up your bible-study class, it's time to change your denomination.

My Apologies

Unfortunately, I forgot my password and have been unable to post. Finally figured out how and will be back up and running soon.

Yes, I AM a moron.

As a token of my sincere shame, please find following the following Limerick written for your reading pleasure:

Saddam faced his deepest of fears,

Jailed with sixty five queers,

In his dungeon of sin,

His shit got pushed in,

Till it violently burst out both ears.

JEP

Valentine's Day Poem

My apologies for neglecting my blog, the past couple of weeks. Please find below a token of my appreciation to my three loyoal readers, a poem in honor of Valentine's Day:

As you stood in the kitchen this Valentine’s Day,
A stir in my loins signaled the beginning of play,
I ripped off my old Dockers, pushed past the house plants,
And unleashed a pink monster from the depths of my pants,
I leapt o’er the counter and aimed for your back,
But tore open my scrotum clearing the cedar spice rack,
With a great deal of commotion I fell to the floor,
And in unbearable agony, loosed a deafening roar,
With a look of sheer puzzlement you watched as I fell,
And then landed atop me like a crack whore from hell,
As loud as a banshee, you loosed amorous calls,
While your nails wreaked havoc on the cooking room walls,
Without caution or modesty, we loved without care,
Until our bodily fluids were tossed through the air,
When it was finally over, we lay still, out of breath,
While our hearts raced as if we had just cheated death,
You then said that our love was like the obelisks of Giza,
But I did not really hear you, I was dreaming of pizza
I learned a deep lesson from this Valentine spectacle,
Be warned that torn scrotums spawn free-flying testicles.