Oddities whippersnappers may encounter, like leprosy, An honest politician (Joking!), or water on the knee, Have ten children; some are yours, at most three! Go to Scotland for the whisky and to find Nessie… Soon realise your sanity is becoming an absentee!
Cuddle up to and grope a gal, all nice and cosey… Sweet words are shared, things getting lovey-dovey! Then find out her name is Arthur and not Rosie… No need to feel embarrassed, daft, or dozy… Fake an excuse, rush off, and send him a posey!
One day you may become an abductee! The kidnapper demanding lots of money… Before he’ll think of setting you free… But no one will pay; you’re not famous, yer see? He’ll likely keep you as an adoptee!
You’ll eat strange foods, & plain foods, like onion bhaji, Liqueurs, cannabis cheesecake, and beetroot coffee? Pickled walnuts, fingernails, and chocolate garibaldi… Even if financially up a gumtree… Try anything, as long as it’s free!
Will you be an owner, manager, or employee? Mayhaps a hippy with long hair and a goatee? Drugged up to eyeballs, living in a fantasy? Marching against bombs and nuclear energy… Just like your Mam and Dad did in 1953!
No need to use a snickersnee or machete… Wounding or killing is plain bizarrerie… It could be you’ll need a necropsy? All through greed and your bellicosity, Finish now, with hatred and animosity!
Keeping on the straight and narrow takes fortuity…
To hide your weaknesses and frangibility…
We’ve only one life each, not an eternity
Staying honest and non-aggressive shows dignity!
At St Peter’s gate, of wrongs, you’ll need deniability,
It’ll be no good pleading for mercy, circumstantially!
When it comes to things financially,
You must avoid showing credulity!
Moneylenders, Bank managers, show crudity…
But do it to start with using misleading civility!
Muggers and robbers take your cash with audacity!
As you get older, you’ll go much more often for a wee-wee! With little warning, you’ll rush to the WC… But, you won’t make it in time very often you see… I know, cause every day this is happening to me! It’ll dribble or torrent, with no controllability…
The protection pants offer little comfort to me… But less protection, as I increase my bellies adiposity… Struggling, Little Inchie gets stuck in the zip… agony! I wet myself; wetter than if on a water-skiers jetty! It bleeds, I cry… this is ageing – it’s not very pretty!
♫ Why does the sun go on shining,
Why does the sea rush to shore,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
‘Cause, she doesn’t love me anymore, Yes…
Why do the birds go on singing,
Why do the stars glow above,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love…
I wake up in the mornin’, and I ponder,
Why sod all is the same as it was…
I can’t understand; no, I can’t understand
How life goes as crappy as it does…
Why does my mechanical heart go on beating?
Why are these eyes of mine fading,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
It ended when you said, “Sod-off, goodbye!”
I often wonder, apart from Little Inchie, why? ♫
Why Am I So Soft & Gullible?
Even as a young man, I was presentable… But, I’ve always been jealous and resentful, Gals thought I was a standby rather than a desirable… But my wallet was in demand… and easily emptiable! My heartstrings were unendingly detachable! Why these failures? It is seemingly not diagnoseable.
My hopes and dreams were terribly squashable, I’ve always been a soft touch and deceivable… Looking back, I find it hardly believable… I’ve gone from cute and cuddlable, To a failure, always, who’s always defeatable!
Thus, it must have been in my past life… I must have lived a terrible life… Not like this one full of strife… Bet I was cruel, took many a wife… I should come back a newt or other pondlife!
Why Are Liars, Usually Politicians?
Well, that’s obvious! To keep themselves out of trouble!
To save them from bursting their own financial bubble?
They overclaim all expenses by at least a tankful…
They welcome Covid cause there’s no time to be able…
For anyone to inspect their expenses table!
Why Have Aliens Not Landed Yet?
Oh, bejabbers, they may well have already; it’s verifiable!
They beam down airily…
So no spaceships to see,
So their landings are not watchable…
They interbred with the powerful, starting with Blair…
This may sound to you ununderstandable…
Their original plan was to make us all vilifiable!
Intending to use mind control, somnambulistically! Naturally, they all mind-melt and speak multilingually, They soon spotted how humans communicate clumsily… Using missiles, tanks, napalm, and mercenary armies… Killing ourselves off with starving… very silly! We are killing ourselves off, although it will be bloody!
We tell our people not to smoke or use a narghilly… Not to eat fatty or sweet food, willy-nilly… We do have variability but very little tranquillity… We intercommunicate bolshy, cruelly, not friendly? We lie, mislead, cheat, mostly circumlocutorily, Many aliens planet folks have visited Earth, spookily, It’d be a lot more, counting the imaginary!
Why Are More People Going Potty?
Answer: Alto-Egos, Id’s and Chakras
Alto-Ego-Inchy: No doubt about the answer to this question… But it’s a long one, which calls for honesty and a confession… I’ve studied this query for years; it became an obsession, Since the Roman invasion to England’s 1867–1869 recession I was in the body of a chap called Adrian… Wall builder, I think, a stonemason…
The effect of Alto-Egos, Id’s and Chakras, combined, Control our allotted specimen, usually a human, Occasionally a half and half, unknown, with a warped mind, But we can handle and master humans, aliens of any kind. I am the truth, reality… I rarely speak what’s on my mind…
We Alto Egos go on for years, the insane is our possession,
When the human snuff it, we move on to Sherlock Holmesian…
To torment another losing it, sad foccinaucinihilipilification,
Alto-Egos, Id’s, and Chakras rule we’re not Antichristian,
We are not Czechian, Australian, Midlothian or Arizonian!
We roam the Universe to torment the deserving, Deserving meaning one demented, their mind flailing, Fair enough, we do some deducing, defacing and coercing… But only of the brain, physical problems are not out kind… Like with Inchcock, no wonder he’s going out of his mind! I’m actually getting to feel sorry for him, I find… But don’t tell anyone, it’s a bit embarrassing…
We Three unknown, misunderstood missionaries, are King… Humans will never understand us unless they are tripping, Our tasks, as laid out for us, to stop anyone helping… Give pain, frustration, depression with maintaining… If noise bothers Inchcock, we make sure it is piercing! If he leaves the tap running… this is called interfacing… We keep him busy with something else; I can’t help laughing! Then the hot water will be cold, so no showering… Little things like this make out job so satisfying!
I fang You!
Part of the Inchies: Make Them Laugh, In Ode Series.
Political farces, what a worrying thought, Criminals abound, but not so many are getting caught! But always motorists, cannabis users, end up in court? Easier for the police… whose number is getting short… Trying to understand why; I get bestaught!
The court’s sentencing seems unfair, unequal… I thought judges were intellectual, but there’re ineffectual! One lad had cannabis 2 ounces, got six months jail, And armed robber, got tagged, no jail, another fail? A shoplifter… charged 28 times, no jail; makes you wail!
If a citizen is violent, acts antisocially… Or shoplifts, pickpockets occasionally… Very few of them are dealt with properly, But park in the City Centre, illegally… Judges, magistrates, come over all schoolmasterly, Massive fines, driving bans, even prison, arbitrarily!
With sentences for criminals, magistrates are miserly, Youth beats up an 88-year-old, the youth could not get a job, Magistrate ‘feels for him’ slaps his wrist, supposedly wisely… Sent him home; on the way, he hit a woman in her gob! The Magistrate should retire, obviously…
A Judge-parole-boarder, who frees murderers to kill again, Are guilty of the crime repeated, for certain! Their career in law should be slain, I wouldn’t complain… If they were locked up until Jesus returns again!
Prisoners get the same healthcare and treatment as anyone outside of prison. Bollocks!I can’t get to see my Doctor. Would a prisoner have to wait for weeks to get a Dentist appointment? Just asking!
Prisoners can get Specialist support:
If they have drug or alcohol problems, Coronavirus, HIV or Aids. Are disabled or have a learning difficulty. I get no help with my disabilities; I have to pay for Carers. Where’s my help with hearing, eyesight, Peripheral Neuropathy, Shaking Shaun, Duodenal Donald, Reflux Roger, Arthur Itis, Shuddering Shoulder Shirley, Back-Pain-Brenda, Walking, Vascular Dementia, Haemorrhoid Harold etc.? No!
Future Sports, Covidity, and Politics, unsung,
Including Boris, Cummings, even Cameron,
I threw myself into creating these, then the phone rung…
Told me the Bank is closing its branch… that’ll be fun!
A bill from the Council, Carers Fees, that stung!
Two weeks ago, Meridian arranged a direct debit…
About as reliable as Norman Tebbit!
I’m leaving it up to Alto-Ego and Inchie ID to do the blog today. I may add something afterwards, but I’m suffering the dreaded, loathed DD (Dracula Depression) this morning. As annoying as this is, trying to find out why is equally disconcerting. As far as I can tell, nothings changed from last night? Humph!
You’ve actually got an advantage over me with this problem, Pugface!
Oh, go on then barbed-wire tongue…. let’s hear it, more sarcasm or criticism, is it?
No, no, no. I’ll explain, mate…
Mate! You just called me, mate!
Are you going to answer me or what? Just cause you’re a thick knob-end of an Ego, doesn’t mean we can’t still be pals. Let’s face it, the more we learn, the more we can pester the life out of Inchcock, innit? So we should help each other learn even more things that will irritate our host… Yes?
Go on then, your taking my Inchcock aggravating time away…
No, I’ve just popped into his pathetic brain; he’ll not be up to or responsive to any joshing, bewildering, bamboozling, or distracting this morning…
Just a cotton-picking minute ID, that’s the things we love to do…
I know, but there are some things even more potent than wot we are, and he’s…
He’s got to live a few more years, at all costs, cause if he snuffs it too soon, or even if Inchcock finds some contentment… the IDAEC (Alto-Ego-Consortium) Guidelines, Rules and Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 will come into force. I’ll end up back in the Soul Bank Vaults, for God knows how many years again! So I…
Well, that’s your advantage. I was going to talk about it mush!
If you cock-it-up, a couple of hundred years in the Soul Bank Vaults, is nothing – If I gerrit wrong, that’s it, end of this Id, altogether. We don’t get transferred to another human-host yer know! Oh, no, it’s a harsh existence for us Ids.
So? Worrya saying like? I could be in there for thousands of years. You are aware that the only hosts there are cockroaches, ants and rats, are yer?
So what’s wrong with that, then?
I won’t be as easy as host Inchcock; the cockroaches are cleverer than he is!
Hahaha! I just listened to him, you know, a while ago. He was talking to his pets! No, honestly! He really was; I’m not jesting Alto, I even think he heard them answering him, too!
No harm… he loves them, it’s a human trait yer know, or do yer? He does that every morning… Unless he’s had trouble in the Porcelain Throne, that is. There’s no problem with that…
Hogglebogwash! How long can he be in the toilet, for heaven sake?
Well, if his evacuation is one of his rock-solid ones, up to about an hour, on occasions, he’s taken longer. When his fungal lesion bleeds, yer see, he has a grossly painful job on, stopping and medicating things…
Gangleboggleisations! Get yersen in the bog; you can pester him while he’s struggling. Give him hell! Bloody heck, a perfect opportunity for giving out some pilgarlic, pooh-pooing, heckling, vilification and raillery. Hahaha! He won’t be able to concentrate on his Porcelain Throne duties at all – Hehehe! Why we could…
Come off it, you know nothing about my host, does yer? You’ve been in this monstrous wobbly-bellied, old idiot for a week now, but yer not learning owt are yer?
Oh, you are, I suppose, yer gerrin’ as thick and decrepit as Inchcock is, pal… yer on the wane, mentally…
You thick swine, on the wane mentally? What else does yer expect? You might have noticed that neither of us is human. We are ethereal, diaphanous beings, or are you not aware of this?
Watch it pug-face, or I’ll report you to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium). You know full well what I meant! I was speaking figuratively, interpretatively, metaphorically, As you are fully aware of; Thunderglobberisations! I thought we’d agreed to be social wiv each other?
Who did? Not me! I’ve not got over you lying to me last week yet… You promised if I signed the IDAEC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice Procedure Adherence 112,145,23, you’d leave this host forever… but no, you are a snotty-nosed ID, aren’t you, so superior… But you being a defrauding, backstabbing, double-crossing, untrustworthy Id that you are, should be reported, not me! Git!
I think you’ve been with this host, Inchcock, for far too long, my old fruitcake! You should just report yourself to the IDAEC as a failure. You’re catching a human beings ailments, such as dementia… No, let me continue…Testicles! If I could, I’d like to tear your head off!.
We’ve already agreed that we are both emblematical, selectively apparitional beings. So tearing my head of would be pointless, don’t you think?
I’m not so sure, Meathead, having never tried to kill anyone before, and as far as I know, no other Id before me has. Perhaps some form of transubstantiating has taken place over the years, and we have acquired the ability to tear off an Alto-Ego’s head? Hehehe!
The same goes for tearing off the head of an Id, indeed?
Ah, I see what you mean. We could, in fact, make history, be the first Id and Alto-Ego to kill each other? Or at least give it a go?
There you go again; you’ve got no morals, have you? What about your Id Oath what you took in training, eh?
Erm, I can’t remember that; it was over three thousand years ago, Dumbo!
Ha! A whippersnapper! Well, for your information, I started off as an Id…
Oh, did you, my friend?
Shut-it! I took the Id oath myself over 5,000 years ago. I seem to remember it went something like, “I shall occupy the given human body as instructed, with the intent of making the host into a big-headed, greedy, parasitic personage within the given period as prescribed by the IDAECC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium-College) Trainer on this day (dated). Convincing the host mentioned above that England will win the world cup again, all Politicians will become trustworthy, and America will land a human-crewed rocket with 5000 paying passengers on board on Mars, at the cost of $3.” You remember that bit, Inchie-Id?
No, and I didn’t miss any lectures or training sessions.
Anyway, it’s time I checked on Inhchcock…
No problem, I can hear him talking to his Carers.
Anyway, what was this question you had for me then? Id my old flower?
Oh, yes… I was a little concerned about why the human hosts always get drunk, stabbing or running over other hosts in their tinned transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire off flaming fireworks into the sky?
Ah, well, it wasn’t always like that, you know…
Tell me what used to happen in the old days Inchie, I’m confused.
Well, in days of yore, the human hosts always get drunk on mead, stab someone, and run over other hosts with the horses and stagecoaches transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky? Then they welcomed in the new year merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky?
Well, I never knew that!.
Hello… Inchcocks took a tumble in the shower…
Bags, I get to annoy him first!
Me first, being the youngest, Crab-Nose!
You got that arse-about-faced as well! The old ones should get priority!
Arse-about-faced… I like it!
We’ll go together, but I get first scoffing, sneering at, chastising Inchcock?
That’s fair enough, mate, as long as you leave the laughing at and humiliating comments in?.
The now two best pals floated through the wall into the wet room with this. But…
Oh, Sod-It! A lot of blood; I think he might be dead?
After all that planning, and arguing too!
Take a close look, see if he’s breathing…
How does yer do that then? I’ve never tried to help a host before?
I’m not sure… erm…
It’s your fault, all that being obstreperous with me!
Well, one of us must wait around until someone finds the body…
We’ve got to report it to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego) Records Dep’t…
Why are they going to make a song about it?
Someone might make a song and dance about it, but me? I’ll be back in the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium) Soul Bank Vaults.
Ain’t these human hosts heartless, dying just like that!
Does yer think the Carers will find him int morning then?
I suppose so… hang on, where’s he keep the cans of plonk for the Carers?
Oh, yes, what does yer fancy mate, Vodka and lime. G & T, Pimms, Mojito, Tequila beer, Strongbow, or Rum & Coke, Id?.
Meandering (he knows no other type) Ode to Life, in which Inchcock bemoans his mental and physical conditions.
Well, wouldn’t you?
Thursday 16th December 2021
I sense the sanity, logicality that I used to find absorbing,
It is now departing my personage and brain… slowly ebbing…
Is there no chance of a semi-restoration?
At least a partial rehabilitation?
With meditation, concentration and circumducing…
Will hope become a possibility of memory-enhancing?
The Thought Storms arrive… sometimes only fleeting!
Even so, the brain-box takes a terrible beating!
But there is no point in me moaning and bleating…
To escape pains and be active, I’m not that contortionistic,
To recapture common sense – how? I’m no academic…
Not that they are coping with the Covid pandemic!
Unknown, mental disorders on man’s brain are feasting!
Life to me is akin to my terrible blogging… But without any face to face dialoguing, I absolutely love a friendly bout of chinwagging… Being deaf can make life a smidge disparaging, And my ode ideas always seem to be dingdonging… For detail from short term memory, I’m always wrestling, I fell in love the other day, she was only fortysomething! I suppose you’ve noticed my habit of subject-hopping? Starting on, say, food, sex, intentions etc., constantly swapping! I find forgetting things humiliating, gut-wrenching!
These Thought Storms, persistent, then suddenly vanishing? But they will return, with their Tardis swooshing… I can be doing anything… weeing, singing, teeth-brushing… Sometimes they can set me off soul-searching.
I may get hit by a good idea, but it’s only ever glancing… Other occasions drive me into a mental-panic, screeching! I’m not normal; that is a well-known thing… I sense there is someone always watching… Whether I’m sleeping, eating or doing the washing…
And the itching fungal lesion, I can’t help scratching! Which, of course, starts it off again, bleeding… I usually just clean it up and do the medicationing… Then feel sorry for myself, at how it is hurting!
But a Beep-Popper By Night!
Years ago, I loved to go Be-Bopping, Nowadays I get tired after burping! Occasionally, I sink to witwantoning, Not for long, I routinely fart and start yawning! Fall asleep, dream of me and Grizelda, tobogganing. We’d exercise, for suppleness and strengthening, Have multiple sessions of in-depth, close-up cuddling… Then, I’ll wake up… none of it was true – bloody sickening!
Part of The Inchcock Make ’em Laugh in Ode Series!
Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.
Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.
Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.
This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…
Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:
Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!
Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?
Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…
Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!
Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane… Alright, I’ll piss off then!
Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!
Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?
Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind
He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…
Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!
Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.
The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.
Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.
Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)
After taking my regular waking up wee-wee, I made a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, The clouds broke, and the moon I could see, This cheered me, sort of kept me company, The Thought Storms started, with verbosity!
Many a guilty, fearsome, scary, memory, Happy events too, but not too many, Like the first time I ever drank Drambiuie, Four years old, and already drinking, I got tipsy, Knowing no better, I sang, and got ditsy! That was the extent of youth being glitzy!
No schooling, so for me, no university, Then the guilt, thin as a rake, I tell thee… Until I was about forty, then adiposity, I drank and ate with great generosity, Dieting became needed, and a necessity, But I ignored this, with great pomposity, I grew fatter, wobblier with sumptuosity, So ashamed of my vast voluminosity! Went bald in my twenty’s, but no toupee,
Seeking girls, I thought was my duty, To get snogging them on the settee, Kitchen, coal house, anywhere would do me, Plump, skinny, brown-haired or a blondie, I recall much pleasure and congeniality, Often spoilt by my addiction to alcoholicity, Sometimes I was lucky, finding edacity, I recall Grizelda, big gal, great voracity, We shared a perfect simultaneity!
Thoughts were rattling, am I going loopy? They eased off, as I needed another pee, One thing though, I can guarantee… They’ll be back again, to torment me!
Facebook played up, it went a bit queer, Problems were slowly driving me crazier, Then things started to get somewhat peskier, I got distracted, and this much was clear, The innards churned and rumbled, Oh, dear! To the Porcelain Throne, in a rush and full of fear!
Rock-solid Torpedo, stuck halfway; what a plight!
I struggled to free it, pain to expedite,
Harold’s Haemorrhoids I did excite!
They stung and bled, more than a mite,
The crossword, 6-letter word, trite?
The evacuating product was just too tight!
After a long painful, harrowing fight…
Suddenly, it came out alright!
Cleaned, and medicated with agility, And a certain joyous alacrity, But this was not the end of the activity… Life often shows endless alterability… A case for me, of banal carnosity!
Oh, what, an annoying bother and pain! The evacuation had started again, Soft as mush this time, almost liquid? I’d no control over what it did, Had to clean up the splatted semi-fluid, Sessions like this are inhumane! It was particularly stinky and horrid, Sensations from burning pain to torrid… The first one, reluctant, gigantic, immane! The follow up virtually liquid, it’s insane!
A daily task, that brought me exhaustibility, Can I claim uniqueness or exclusivity? Or being a fool, for Odeing with such clarity? I think the fool bit is right, actually!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Oded in Support of Nottingham Branch of the Bulgarian Pregnant Koala Appreciation Society