Penis
I could not stop looking at his penis. Or at least, where his penis should have been.
My goodness, isn’t it hot lately? Humidity yesterday got up to about 94%. There is so much more to that story, but it's too hot and clammy to think.
All the ceremony over the passing of Sir Edmund Hillary makes one think about one's own demise. I thought long and hard (which for me, I confess, is barely a minute), what my obituary might look like. If someone had to put fingers to keyboard to summarise one's life, what could they write? All I could think of was;
Mrs Smith
She was very tidy.
After this, I get writer's block. It may be time to run away and join the circus.
6 comments:
I can recommend the circus as a place to run away to. There is a good circus school in London near Old Street (CircusSpace) or if London is not to your taste Teatro Dimitri in Switzerland is excellent.
Miss Prozac is too distracted by the lack of penis to concentrate for more than a minute either
time to run away and join the circus
Ahhh so you're going to join Britney Spear's entourage?
The penis on whom?
"The penis on whom?"
Apparently, the LACK of penis...
Yes, on whom, Mrs. Smith, and what became of it?
Maybe this song will shed some light on the penis-less one's preDICKament.
Mrs Smith
She found the muculent nature of summer both tiring and common.
Frankly, an obituary to admire.
Tease. And I stand by that statement.
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