Three Words Daily (Or whenever you like)

and ancient scabs

crossing picket lines

and entering Poundstretcher

to buy a

cheeky wee blouse

with lace trimmings

to parade around

with wild abandonment

jauntily through Asda

buying all B-O-G-O-F's

in-the panty aisle

trying everything on

and smirking uncontrolably

with a hard

yet supple protuberance

peeking out provocatively

between the flaps

of folded flacidness

once perky goodness

now shrivelled and

useless, like a

Britney Spears single

deeply unsatisfying and

smelling just like

Britney's discarded pantyhose

and 'pubic' wig

swiftly shaven by

Duncan Goodhew's barber

using the sharp

end of his

large shiny chopper

Then all-of-a-sudden

someone cheated badly

at strip poker

and 'three words' :)

and whipped accordingly

with a leather

copy of 1984

wrapped nicely around

Jeremy's protective codpiece

delicately acid dipped

and etched with

an etchy thing

suitably blunt and

revolving at 357rpm

Tony's hourly rate ;)

of consuming the

ring-piece of-the damned

resembling a cod-piece

but really a