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The Vagina Tax

MINISTER ONE:   OK hear me out on this. [PAUSE] How about we put a tax on vaginas?

MINISTER TWO:  You want to tax vaginas?

MINISTER ONE:   Well, not the vaginas themselves, just anyone who has one.

MINISTER TWO:   You mean women?

MINISTER ONE:   Well that makes it sound like we’re discriminating. It’s just that these stats show that the owners of vaginas are far more productive and creative, both economically and socially than any other group. It makes perfect fiscal sense. Vaginas are a gold mine.

MINISTER TWO:  It might seem a little fairer if we taxed penises as well?

MINISTER ONE:  WHAT!? Tax people for having a penis!? That is literally the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard in my life! The fuck is wrong with you!? Seriously!? Tax people for having a penis!? Have you got a brain tumour or something? Listen to yourself man! I mean, WHAT THE FUCK??!!

The Sun Has Got Its Huff On

I’ve decided to only fall in love once a day from now on.

Today it is the gorgeous Helen Arney talking out of her Uranus.

 

Since I Met Him…

I’ve smoked cannabis,
Cheated at poker,
Lied to my husband,
Danced naked under the stars.

I’ve slapped him,
Kissed him,
Told him a dirty secret,
Blamed a fart on him.

I’ve been ticked off by the police,
Seen a hole in the sky,
Convinced some people I was psychic,
Lost £10,000.

I’ve stood up to a bully,
Called her a whore.
Been kicked out of a library.
Broken into a cemetery.

Since I met him I’ve
Lost my religion,
Found my faith,
Fallen in love.

It’s been quite an afternoon.

A.

Rotten

I Watched Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride last night. It was delightful and very sweet. I fell in love with Emily here: the titular corpse.

The maggot in the eyeball made for a challenging wank at first, but I leaned into it, and I have to say, I fancy her something rotten.

Signs of summer

Today was the warmest day yet. I saw my first butterfly and heard the sound of the first ice cream van of the year – I hate those noisy bastards, and I don’t like ice cream vans either.

Is this why women don’t stick around?

“i see there’s no milk in the fridge!”
“how can you see what isn’t there?”
“what?”
“if it’s not there, how can you see it?”
“i can see you haven’t bought any bloody milk!”
“how?”
“’cause it’s not there, fuck nuts!”
“i know, i forgot, but what does no milk look like?”
“like no milk!”
“but if it’s not there, how can you see it’s not milk? it might be not eggs that you’re looking at.”
“did you forget the fucking eggs too!?”
“what does it look like?”

Old Gay John

I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old either or called John.

You give my soul a hard-on

you give my soul a hard-on,
you make my heart erect,
my being throb and pulsate,
my very core erupt.

you make my psyche tingle,
you make my mind inflate,
my life force squirt and dribble,
my spirit ejaculate.

All Sticky

when i taste your flesh,
i want it all sticky.
when i kiss your breasts,
i want them all sweaty.

when you fuck my face,
i want you to stink.
when i lick your arse,
i want you to reek.

when i kiss your tits,
i want to taste your cunt,
and when i lick your lips,
i want to taste my cum.

Just while i finish…

i had to go to the doctor’s today – i hate it, the depression of the waiting room, the risk of catching a cold, all the posters reminding me of all the horrible diseases and afflictions, i could, and probably will end up getting. most of all, i hate the wait. i know they’re busy and the service is stretched, but to be surrounded by miserable looking fuckers, coughing and sneezing over me is just a shitty way to spend the best part of a morning – thank fuck i’ve got minecraft on my phone, at least.

eventually, i get to see my doctor. she is a hot young asian woman, and, thanks to the recent mild weather, is displaying a cleavage that i could happily spend six months in. this makes discussing personal matters rather awkward, and after several minutes watching her staring, uncomfortably, at her computer display, she turns to me and breaks the news. “i’m very sorry mr mew, but you are going to have to stop masturbating.” i’m flabbergasted.
“what?” i exclaim, “why?” my world collapsing around me, “forever?”
“no, not forever, mr mew,” she sighs, almost scowling, “just while i finish examining you.”