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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?

Down the ladder: Oldfinger

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Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
 GraphVotes
10  .. 412
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Arithmetic Mean: 6.21875
Weighted score: 6.2176394
Overall Rank: 956
Posted: August 10, 2006 6:52 AM PDT; Last modified: August 10, 2006 6:52 AM PDT
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Comments:
[10] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 81.151.149.27 | 11-Aug-06/4:57 PM | 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.
[9] MacFrantic @ 71.208.112.134 | 14-Aug-06/12:21 AM | Reply
HA, sweet drivel
[10] Engelbert Humpalot @ 194.154.22.54 | 14-Aug-06/7:55 AM | Reply
Sheer beauty. And how fucking true!
[10] Sing4Jesus! @ 87.80.134.60 | 23-Aug-06/9:45 AM | Reply
Jesus farts for you!
[10] Ulterius @ 82.46.97.41 | 31-Aug-06/9:16 AM | Reply
Brilliant.
[3] Hostileintent @ 83.71.96.67 | 14-Oct-06/4:41 AM | Reply
thats the type of thing you would write straight from your head onto a page when drunk. sorry dame edna
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