I have decided my writing is becoming much too popular for my liking and have decided to become utterly anonymous again by witholding all creative output in the form of the written word but befor I do this is my last ever work Many people have tried to persuade me to continue but I feel that I must protest against injustice by not uttering any more poetry or prose so here is my vey last work Its called Gloria Stits. As I sit on Great Yarmouth Beach I grab a handful of sand and think of it as silicone (which it is) A gull swoops down to pluck at seaweed I scoop the sand into two huge mounds smooth them off and make them rounder cap them with two small stones they look like tits I scrawl in the sand beneath Women get your silicone tits here these belonged once belonged to Gloria but you can have them as Gloria Stits is free she's become a man
very funny the first part sets up the whole thing the second shows the thought process the third delivers the punchline well done
Due to popular demand I have decided to do an encore and write the sequel its called "Up the Garry" The Garrick pub is the local beer hole a joke amongst townies who call it "The Garry" an unfortunate association Garry Glitter famous ex rock star now a reviled paedophile whose name always was a cockney rhying slang even before his fall Once the pub was proud but now people feel silly being there theyre up the garry up the garry glitter garry glitter shitter Who wants to be in a pub that reminds you of garry glitter "oi oi - whose been up the garry"? "have you been up the garry"? "come up the garry"! "fancy a pint up the garry"? sick and so no-one goes there no more I have never been up the garry people I know used to go up the garry I saw someone in the garry a week ago he looked like he enjoyed it so did the bloke he was with
Double post made due to demented intoxication. Has since been edited, because I spotted it and felt like a twat.
Once again, a phenomenal milestone in verse writing achieved. I like what you did there, and I hope people spotted it. You started off by writing prose and Made it dynamic by shitting on rules You gradually changed the pace, talking of things perverse. How cunningly you changed your style and started writing in verse! Garry Glitter is a sick old man Perhaps he'll never learn I don't think that there's still a fan Whose stomach hasn't churned. But what about dear ol' Paul Mc C, Whose Heather caused such a mess? Surely if he had some dick control, He would stand to lose a lot less! Should I mention all our sports teams, Who are good at winning nothing? Or the 2012 Olympics That will cost an arm, a leg, and a farthing? Who could forget dear ol' Tone? Certainly not Scotland Yard. It's just as well he's Prime Minister And carries a "Get Out Of Jail" card. Let us not whinge and moan like Poms We're British and we love a Derby With global warming just forget the Proms And throw another shrimp on the barbie.
