"If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen."

Friday, 4 September 2009


"Once upon a lunchtime cheery as we beckoned waiters leery,
Over wine and foreign menus of healthy salads raw,
While we giggled, tanned and luscious, (we've left behind those girly blushes),
Suddenly there came a tapping, soft like kittens milkly lapping,
Tapping on my arm sun-sore.
'Tis just some fucktard', I did mutter, 'tapping on my arm sun-sore.
Only this, and nothing more'.


Ha, Hic... This much for today.
Here's a pic - story of my life: 

My most profound apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.
UPDATE: Here's the original in spoken verse, but make sure you've got cushions to hand:


  1. Two paracetemol with a pint of water and a lie down called for I think GV.

    Bet it was worth it though!

  2. Ah, be fair SR - if I was that far gone I wouldn't have been able to crib the poem :)


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