I was sitting in the office with my colleague Tracey [Once of the filthiest sluts I have ever met A woman so indiscriminate in her selection of lovers That no man could ever be ugly enough to be denied a shag] When we heard the news about the Twin Towers attack, And Tracey was seized by a bout of laughing Which resulted in her gobbing out a lump of phlegm Green and hideously odorous, almost alive in fact. I recognised the symptoms of her respiratory ailment And, since I knew that when she got really going With a good old bout of combined giggling and regurgitation, Only one thing could bring her back to reality. And you will not need to be a genius to realise That what she needed was to be fucked silly By at least half a dozen strong hairy men, And preferably up her fat shitter. Thus it came to pass that I rushed into the corridor And yelled out to one and all "Tracey's got the giggles", Whereupon every single male in the office [Including the one-legged printer Eduardo] Dropped what he was doing and rushed forward valiantly Eager to get their hands on Tracey And give her one up her waiting flabby tush Before it got too well-lubricated and gaping. So if anyone ever asks me "Where were you when Kennedy got shot?" Or "Where were you when Princess Di bit the concrete pillar?" I always say "I really don't have a fucking clue old boy". But I sure as Hell remember where I was when the Twin Towers crumbled, As I was fourth in line to poke Tracey so her back-crack Was pretty well greased by my three agile predecessors And I had the advantage of her 90-decibel screams of desire To encourage me to come quickly so as to allow the others to get stuck in.