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Christmas Murder Play

Piled out of pub,
lined up like swine,
twitching itchy trouser legs,
shouting at the girls for show.
"Peg, Dawn, Vicky."
Fag stuck to lips,
brains made of sticky dough.
Each bitch
mercilessly togged,
pelmet skirt up to arse.
Is there life on Mars?
And do we have to log in?
"Its Fuckin' snowin',
worra sight,
on fuckin' Crimbo day.
Hoo fuckin' ray
you gob shite."
A sudden bolt of lightening
blew them and their bimbos
clean away.
I held up my smoking finger.
A snowflake sizzled
in white hot heat.
Father Christmas applauded
from the roof top,
while swallowing whiskey
70% proof, neat.
I left my seat ,
walked home
through drizzling rain.

23 Dec 05

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Did you mean to say:  "Ploy"??
 — aforbing

larrylark, you have a clean and yet dirty sense of humor that manifests your writing. I don't know how you do it. However you do, it's enjoyable. Too strong for my tastes though.
 — Hear

I don't do ploys but i believe they are very popular in certain parts of Ireland,

Larry beejabers Lark
 — larrylark

Dear Hear

I'm clean once a week when i have my annual bath. The rest of the time i roam like a filthy beast through forest mountain and valley.

Larry I love the filthy wandering life Lark
 — larrylark