She’s not laughing at me

She’s laughing again
I always get a bit worried when she laughs.

The normally sultry beauty is laughing heartily about something. I am relieved to report it’s nothing to do with me.

She knows nothing about Marie and that banana insertion which she only managed because, stupidly, I let her tie me to the bed, again.

No-one, especially her, has any inkling about me wearing a dress when Marie dragged me to see that movie all about kissing.

Everyone at the horse-riding place has agreed the horse poo on my head will forever remain a secret.

That business of me calling the Fire Brigade because a spider wouldn’t let me out of the bedroom cost me a few quid to hush up.

I couldn’t go around acting as cool as I do if anyone, especially her, knew the daily disasters I have to keep secret lest people laugh at me.

 

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The Sunday Times Magazine Supplement

The secret is out – or in

My recent visit to a country called France did not go as I had planned.

My in-depth interview with, pop legend, LydiE can’t really be called an interview at all.

Consequently, I had to return my advance to the NME who were very angry about the article I eventually sent them. Equally, The Hollywood Reporter were most dismissive and insulting.

Thankfully, my huge brain came to the rescue.

When I was being used as a plaything by LydiE she told me I was an “art project” ergo, I got on the phone and she readily agreed to bang out some paintings in addition to the considerable amount she had already done and sent to people such as Tom (Cruise), Kate (Winslet) and Barbar (Ella).

I cobbled all this material together, added some words and flogged it to those idiots at The Sunday Times Magazine Supplement.

I got a tidy sum, let me tell you. I had to give half to LydiE but there’s still enough to fund several months of disgraceful conduct (for me and her).

For copyright reasons you’ll have to buy The Sunday Times to see my “Art Report”.

Once their rights have expired, I can reproduce my masterpiece here – which I shall do.


I’d like to add, regarding some of the pictures, some things can appear smaller in paintings than they are in real life. It’s complicated and involves perspective. It’s a well-known phenomenon well discussed in academic circles. So, just to reiterate: something may look small but is actually big.

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Isle of Wight Poetry Festival – Advice

I will be making a personal appearance on The Isle of Wight to read poetry from my forthcoming anthology: “My Life”.

John Cooper Clarke and I are keen to avoid a repetition of what occurred at the Hay on Wye Festival. Ergo, here is some advice:

If you want to prevent your wife, girlfriend, partner or sex doll running away with a great looking poet you should ensure she is unable to do so. This can easily be achieved by tying her to a radiator for the length of time the festival takes place (three days).

a banana

I understand this is extreme and ridiculous but I have suggested this as an emergency fix for the problem. A more sensible solution, if you forward plan, is to buy a cage and put her in there whilst the poets (me & John) are in town. She can be comfortable in there and you can ensure she’s okay by giving her a bowl of water and a banana – for sustenance. You can also provide some sandwiches in case she gets hungry.

Women are very resourceful when there’s prospect of being with me or John. Ergo, to cater for the inevitable, install a tracking device in her anus. That way, you can track her down with great ease when she escapes and ends up in our tent. Important: remember to remove the tracker before anal sex or it can cause injury to the penis (I speak from bitter experience).

Advice: I’m full of it

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Prepare Ye for the End of The World

On February 26 2020 – a day which shall forever live in infamy – the server on which this site resides shall undergo an extensive upgrade.

Nothing shall go wrong during this process and it shall be an entirely painless experience.

If anything was, say, to go awry, then it’s nothing to do with me.

 

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A fucking Painting

I had a bloody good laugh this morning. Kate (Winslet) sent me a photo of a painting done by LydiE.

She’d got it from Tom (Cruise).

What an idiot. He’ll never live this down.

Look at him giving LydiE one. What a slut (Tom) (Cruise).
Ha ha, and, additionally, ha.

Update: ffs sake, it’s not Tom (Cruise) in the painting…

 

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The Frosting

Sometimes, maybe to feel
I go to where the lights went out
So few have seen such a thing
The pain is too much to bear
I can’t stay there long

Her little heart raced for me

Perhaps one lovely day
When the lights go out
for me

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