No nursery rhymes, please. <G>
Dan Scott
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
>Perhaps we could do 'a day in the life'. Here's one from my lord
>Rochester. One of Mother Theresa's favourites, I believe:
>
>"Regime de Vivre
>
>I rise at eleven, I dine about two,
>I get drunk before seven; and the next thing I do,
>I send for my whore, when for fear of a clap,
>I spend in her hand, and I spew in her lap.
>Then we quarrel and scold, 'till I fall fast asleep,
>When the bitch, growing bold, to my pocket does creep;
>Then slyly she leaves me, and, to revenge the affront,
>At once she bereaves me of money and cunt.
>If by chance then I wake, hot-headed and drunk,
>What a coil do I make for the loss of my punk!
>I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
>And missing my whore, I bugger my page.
>Then, crop-sick all morning, I rail at my men,
>And in bed I lie yawning 'till eleven again."
>
>--
>Cheers,
>Bob
>
>mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
>
>-
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