Tiger Blood

T'was another day in Hollywood when Charlie Sheen took ill

He was rushed to the emergency room with paramedic skill

His stomach cramps materialised after hours of snorting coke

And as the news broke on the web, we presumed it was a joke

A briefcase full of powdered snow delivered to his door

And partying so very hard with a porn star and a whore

And perhaps a tiny night-cap-high from slamming crystal meth

Appeared to be the cause of Charlie's narrow brush with death

But much to our relief we learned of Charlie's indigestion

As PR types refuted each alternative suggestion

A hernia of hiatus sorts had caused his guts to knot

So off they sent him home with a prescription and a shot

But the media were on the case as porn star Kasey posed

And painterly the picture grew as details were exposed

Next CBS were swift to make their job demise announcement

Though Charlie was as quick to make his own bizarre pronouncement

On twitter he proclaimed that he was filled with #TigerBlood

And told us he was #winning as new followers did flood

The female twitterati saw a troubled soul precarious

The males just wanted Charlie's life in all its forms vicarious

As twitter watched his life destruct, the women were in shock

But the men were merely envious of Charlie's active cock

The details of his private life were wildly torn asunder

And as we read each gory part, I couldn't help but wonder

Did he use a rubber when he banged those porn-star bitches?

Or is he now forever cursed with nether-region itches?

As he pointed his torpedo in a truth or dare direction

Was latex simply 'de rigueur' to protect his stiff erection?

For what he might consider to be pure primeval sports

May very well have left him with severe venereal warts

Did he pay attention to the threat of HPV?

Or heed the many warnings on the risks of HIV?

No, the lack of Durex sponsorship and requisite commission

Led Charlie to commit a costly, foolhardy omission.

While things were spinning wildly in a violent downward spiral

Charlie put a whole new spin on the art of going viral

As he gathered round his entourage of horny, porny sisters

He failed to see his foreskin burst with weeping herpes blisters

And sitting there in rehab with withdrawal diarrhea

He didn't give a second thought to his nascent gonorrhea

Pumped full of penicillin he observed his healing scabs

And the precautionary shaving left him quite devoid of crabs

So as the new clean Mr. Sheen emerged fresh from his chrysalis

He swept aside all remnants of that most tenacious syphilis

'I'm #winning!', he announced as all the conference cameras pressed

And the #TigerBlood erection in his pants he just suppressed

For the girls were ready, waiting; on his every word were hanging

They simply couldn't wait to get a 2.5-man banging

Rampant Rabbit

I love my Rampant Rabbit with its features leporine

It often satisfies me when I find myself supine

I love my Rampant Rabbit; I like to keep it handy

It’s in my bedside locker just in case I’m feeling randy

I love my Rampant Rabbit as I’m coating it with lube

It’s like a form of foreplay as I squeeze it from the tube

I love my Rampant Rabbit with its little buzzing ears

I muffle it with bedclothes and I pray that no one hears

I love my Rampant Rabbit with its trade marked piston action

When I use it on the highest speed it drives me to distraction

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it fits inside just right

It ensures vaginal pleasure and brings clitoral delight

I love my Rampant Rabbit with its shaft of purple plastic

It helped me find my ‘G’ spot so I think that it’s fantastic

I love my Rampant Rabbit; God bless Homo Erectus

Who clearly was the model for this toy sent to delect us

I love my Rampant Rabbit, but can it make me feel loved?

Well, it makes me feel quite marvellous as inside it's deeply shoved

I love my Rampant Rabbit but can it compare to Man?

It doesn’t have emotions so I say it surely can!

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it never seems to tire

Its ardour’s not connected to libido or desire

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it can’t feel hurt or spurned

It doesn’t go all sulky if the favour’s not returned

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it has no strings attached

And when its duty’s done it can be hastily dispatched

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it never criticizes

It doesn’t give a toss about my arse or bosom sizes

I love my Rampant Rabbit with no surplus fleshy parts

No smelly foreskin to manoeuvre before the fun bit starts

I love my Rampant Rabbit; perhaps you’ll think I’m quirky

But it so much better looking than the ‘oven-ready turkey’

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it’s my favourite way of fucking

It has no expectation that I’ll swallow after sucking

I love my Rampant Rabbit; I meet its basic needs

After use I wipe it and on batteries it feeds

I love my Rampant Rabbit; it has only one agenda

To satisfy the carnal needs of womankind’s pudenda

I love my Rampant Rabbit as I’m lying here prostrate

It really is the only way a girl should masturbate

Thrush

I’ve got an itch

And it’s a bitch
It’s deep inside my fanny

Like soldier ants
Inside my pants
In every nook and cranny

It’s my belief
I’d find relief
If I could only scratch it

But I’m in my review
And my manager’s view
Is that 'up' I need to ratchet

I really do think
He’d do more than just blink
If my hand reached into my panties

I think that recourse
Might throw him off course
From his mission to up me my ante’s

He’s talking of bonus
And how it’s my onus
To turn things around and take action

He’s shown me my targets
Discussed untapped markets
But my vulva is causing distraction

I tell him he’s right
And a load of old shite
About how much I’m loving his firm

I say this while smiling
And hope it’s beguiling
As my lower half’s started to squirm

I throw him a line
About how things are fine
And I’m doing my best to appease

But under the table
I’m feeling unstable
As my knickers are filling with cheese

I know I’m defeated
But I have to stay seated
And hold out to finish this meeting

I feel perspiration
But find inspiration
As I make subtle use of the seating

Back and forth as I rock
My boss looks in shock
It’s a dangerous line that I’m crossing

But it doesn’t seem wrong
To manoeuvre my thong
And attempt to perform body-flossing

The situation is dire
My fanny’s on fire
How much more can this poor woman take?

The answer’s ‘no more’
It’s too fucking sore
So career suicide I must make

I jump to my feet
Admitting defeat
And I tell him I really must dash

He says, ‘Please explain!’
But I’m in too much pain
I just have to attend to my rash

I make for the door
But he crosses the floor
My hasty retreat now prevented

So what happens next
May forever be etched
On his mind’s eye, and firmly cemented

‘I was in such a rush
As I’ve terrible thrush’
I say, for there’s no turning back

And I lift up my dress
Now he’s blocked my egress
As I feel I must show him my crack

I point to my twat
And I say ‘look at that!’
And I give it some well-deserved rubs

And buried in hair
My labia’s there
Like a couple of red inflamed slugs

I thought if he saw
A vagina this raw
He’d be quite sympathetic at least

But he’s no comprehension
Of a female infection
That’s caused by a source such as yeast

He’s visibly shaken
By the action I’ve taken
But my intuition I trusted

My trust was misplaced
As he’s turned quite po-faced
I can tell he’s completely disgusted

‘Good grief’, says my boss
‘I’m quite at a loss
And I struggle to find words sufficient’

‘I feel disappointment
For since your appointment
I thought you were rather proficient’

‘You interviewed well
You were skilled, I could tell
And I thought it was prudent to hire you’

‘But in this situation
As you’re still on probation
You leave me no choice but to fire you!’

It could have been worse
I might have left in a hearse
As I literally thought I'd expire

Now I leave on the premise
That I'll find a chemist
Who'll grant me my utmost desire

For you must understand
There is only one brand
That will prompt me to utter 'Amen!'

I may have no job
But all I need is one blob
Of that miracle cream, 'Canesten'.

The Plumber

I’m busy doing housework; I’m in my baby-doll

I’ve started mildly sweating as the effort takes its toll

My next job is to wash the floors; I grab my mop and bucket
But suddenly I’m soaking wet and screaming out, ‘Oh fuck it!’

The kitchen tap has sprung a leak as I stand at the sink
It’s fast I need to act and on my feet I need to think

I grab the phone and make the call; somehow I know the number
This is a situation that requires an on-call plumber

‘Help me, please! I’ve sprung a leak and need emergency plumbing!’
The deep voice at the other end says, ‘Don’t worry, love, I’m coming.’

Miraculously, he’s at the door as I hang up the phone
And as I bid him entry I can see he’s got a bone.

‘It’s for my dog,’ he tells me, as my mind he easily reads
And as I look him up and down, I know he’ll meet my needs.

‘When you called me I was at the butcher’s round the corner.
It’s my day off, so it’s double-time, I feel I ought to warn ya.’

‘I don’t care what it costs,’ I lie, ‘you have to fix my leak.’
And as he straps his tool-belt on, I feel my knees go weak.

‘Is it very warm in here?’ I innocently ask,
As in his muscled glory I allow myself to bask.

‘It is a bit,’ he says, then asks, ‘may I remove my top?’
‘Oh please, feel free!’ I say too fast and hope he doesn’t stop.

I grab a cloth and dab the perspiration from my neck,
I shouldn’t really think the way I do, but what the heck!

I watch in awe as he unsheathes a length of copper piping
And notice as he looks towards my cleavage that I’m wiping.

‘I’d like to help,’ I offer, ‘shall I hold your tool, perhaps?’
But I get too close and brush against his arm with both my baps.

The tension is too much; I see his pupils are dilating
Then suddenly we’re on the kitchen table, fornicating.

He’s doing me in doggie-style; he’s got me on all fours
And from this fresh perspective I can see my unwashed floors.

I offer some encouragement as I go ‘ahh’ and ‘ooh’
‘Fuck me hard and do to me whatever you must do’

I’m starting to enjoy it as our rhythm finds its pace
But out he’s pulled and spun me round; now he’s cumming on my face!

I feel a little cheated as I didn’t climax yet
I feel a little stupid as my eyelashes are wet

I try to keep things in the mood, but it’s over, I suppose
And I don’t feel very sexy, ’cos I’ve got spunk up my nose

The job is done; my leak is fixed; he’s put away his tools.
It was just a lusty interlude for two hot and horny fools

That night I take my diary from the drawer in which it’s hid
And write: ‘Today a plumber screwed me. He charged me three hundred quid!’

Anal Sex

May I speak of anal sex?
For it’s a topic quite complex

There are those who’ve yet to try it
And those who have, but yet deny it

For some, it’s simply too taboo
The anus stays reserved for pooh

While others, it appears, were born
To re-enact a scene from porn

And some whose sphincters stand as sentry
Lest a penis make its entry

For on its exit there’s the fear
That bits of sweet corn may appear

But some relax and gladly loosen
And let their anal passage juicen

Allowing penile penetration
And relishing risqué sensation

For them, their arse holds buried treasure
And untold depths of plundered pleasure

But mine is not the place to judge
If your knickers hold a tell-tale smudge

Whether you do, or whether you don’t
I don’t care if you will or won’t

So analyse this by component
I’m neither contra nor proponent

And if my poem caused you shock
Stay missionary when taking cock

But if my poem made you titter
Perhaps you take it up the shitter!