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Memories Of Home (Ode) by Edna Sweetlove The house where I was born
Stood near to fields of corn
But now it's gorn
And I'm forlorn.
Fuck me, you can't sodding
Rely on anything, can you?
Up the ladder:
pihsdneirf ruo fo dne eht(The Burn)
Down the ladder:
Oldfinger
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.21875
Posted: August 10, 2006 6:52 AM PDT; Last modified: August 10, 2006 6:52 AM PDTWeighted score: 6.2176394 Overall Rank: 968 Comments:
[10]
-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 81.151.149.27
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11-Aug-06/4:57 PM
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Reply
Were I but ten years younger, I'd have scalded this piece beyond all reckoning. Alas my obstinate buttocks have outgrown their jodhpurs, and whilst they clung loyally to their master's haunches for a time, it was with an act of tearful necessity that I disembarked from their fleshy embrace and watched them flee like dwarves into the cold dark night.
HA, sweet drivel
Sheer beauty. And how fucking true!
Jesus farts for you!
Brilliant.
thats the type of thing you would write straight from your head onto a page when drunk. sorry dame edna
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