By popular demand, Sir Matthew Bartholemew Spartacus (IV) Chingduvé and myself, The Right Hon. Agnes Petticoat Bandage Shirley Mildew have been asked to write some poetry. We have given it our best shot. In the spirit of things, we have kept it completely evil and bitter, so we are sure you will appreciate our attempts. For reasons of revenge, no names have been altered...
An Ode To My Former Bosses...
Brenda was my one-time boss,
She sacked me, but that was her definite loss.
Opposite to me she sat
Eating her ear-wax, the dirty cow.
Marcio was her husband’s name,
And telling whoppers was his game.
Like all the ladies fancied him
And how much weight he’d lost at the gym.
Marcio's breath reminded me
Of blocked up toilets - poo and wee
He didn't seem to give a toss
That we all gave him some mouthwash
But in the building, we all knew,
That Brenda didn’t have a clue.
Cos her spouse was off a-wandering
To websites just to have a fling.
On Date.com his profile lay,
He wanted girls – he wasn’t gay.
He made out that he was ‘well hard’
Far from our beliefs – a total retard.
But could he get a gal? No chance.
Cos Brenda, see, she wore the pants.
And when he hinted thrice to me
That he was available as could be
And when I knocked him back forthwith
He bleated off to his Missus.
She took the hump and told me straight.
Young lady, there’s the office gate.
A final drink of tea I made,
Especially for those two shades.
A special mix of snot and goo
And forty laxatives, not one or two…
I hope they got the screaming shites,
And go to bed, afeared at nights,
In case I come to haunt them more
With Flaming Pasties at their door…
Unfortunately, Sir Matthew Bartholemew Spartacus (IV) Chingduvé is unable to contribute at this present moment in time due to a temporary disturbance in his fingers as he is blind drunk and has passed out over the keyboard. Normal service will be resumed shortly, once he has woken up and taken his laxatives.
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