comedy

Overheard on the bus

her: reading something earnestly to him from her phone

him: not really listening – “What? Street kids? They don’t care.”

i can’t see her face, but i can feel her horrified stare

him: “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Of course they care.”

he goes back to his phone – she carries on glaring for a bit and then returns to her’s

a few seconds go by

him: “What I meant to say was, they don’t matter.”


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 or called John either.


Is it still a haiku if it rhymes?

who needs poetry
when all it takes is just three
little words from me


Sakeena

You can call me a dreamer,
But when I think of Sakeena,
My thoughts should be cleaner,
As I reach for my wiener,
My heart in a fever,
And growing obscener,
Wishing I was between her
Thighs, getting deeper,
Like a huge paddle steamer,
Wanting only to please her,
And make her a screamer,
A laughing hyena,
Who’ll know nothing finer
Than when I kiss her
Hot, wet mouth.


I discovered something really creepy about myself today

I discovered something really creepy about myself today, something that really freaked me out. I can talk to the dead. I’ve probably always been able to do it, it’s just I’ve never tried before. It’s not just a select few I can talk to either, I can talk to anyone I want, anyone who’s ever lived. I talked to Einstein earlier, and Jimi Hendrix, and Karl Marx. I even jerked off, talking to Princess Diana and Charlotte Bronte at the same time. It’s an incredible ability, being able to talk to the dead, truly amazing. I just wish they would talk back.


Growing old

As I get older, I find that I can’t do a lot of the things I used to do.   I used to be able to bend an iron bar over my erect phallus. It was a great party trick. I can’t do it any more though, my wrists are shot to fuck.


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

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

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


A Taste

we meet in secret, in a hotel room – you give me a peck on the cheek and tell me that as long as i do everything you say, we can meet again. if i hesitate, or fail in the slightest and you will leave and i will never see you again.

you have me undress and lay on the bed, already erect, as your eyes take in my cock, bouncing eagerly on my belly with anticipation – you step forward and blindfold me – i hear you moving and the sound of your clothes falling to the floor. i ask if you’re naked, and you tell me not to speak.

i feel you climbing onto the bed, and you tell me that i am not to touch you, that i am not to touch myself. i am not even allowed to move unless told to – you kneel over me, your legs straddling mine, looking down at me trembling with excitement, my member fit to burst.

you stroke my chest softly, with the tips of you fingers, feel my heart pounding rapidly, the way a wild beast might pound its cage in an effort to be free. you sweep your fingers down over my belly, stopping just short of my twitching shaft. you run both your hands down my sides and up over me, stopping even closer this time. you do this, again and again, getting nearer and nearer, until the lightest touch would have me overflow.

i can tell, by the way you are breathing more heavily and the light trembling of the bed, what you are doing to yourself. you remind me again, with the hint of a gasp in your voice, not to touch you and not to touch myself, knowing just how much i long to – through the mattress i feel your hips start to rock back and forth and hear your light, open-mouthed gasps reflect off the ceiling and know you have your head tilted back in ecstasy.

you lean forward, supporting yourself with your other hand on the headboard and plant the tiniest of kisses on my quivering lips. i can feel your hair brush against my skin and your breath, like sweet steam, on my cheek – your mouth hovers over mine as your orgasm erupts through you, spreading like molten, bubbling lava, to the very tips of your fingers and toes – your orgasmic moans are soft, breathy and almost whisper-like, but there is no mistaking the pleasure they portray, as you pant and pulsate over me, your body on fire with delight.

before you climb off me, you sweep a glistening fingertip over my lips, barely touching them but giving me a tantalising taste of heaven, as i lay there gasping with a mixture of unbearable frustration and momentous delight. you dress silently, still shaking with excitement, and exit the room without a sound, leaving me in the dark, glued to the spot with fear of losing you, my erection still raging like a hungry wolf.

it is only hours later when i hear an awkward cough that is not yours, that i dare take off the blindfold. only to see the ugly old, toothless maid, who has come to clean the room, standing at the end of the bed, mouth gaping and eyes bulging at the sight of my still stiff, still trembling body.


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.”

 

 


Lioness

She is like a starving lioness, craving the kill, desperate for the taste of blood, the sensation of tearing flesh and the sweet stench of terror from her prey. She needs to feed. She longs to devour and feast. She needs to eat. Her hunger so strong that it hurts, consuming her every waking moment and drenching her dreams. It’s the only thing she can think about. She simply has to feel her teeth sinking into soft, terrified flesh. It’s in her very nature, to choke and kill and devour. She has no choice in the matter. It is who she is and it is what makes her so beautiful.

The best thing about her is that she’s coming round later tonight for what she describes as a barbecue. I’m just a little puzzled, as I don’t have a yard, but I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about, and I can’t wait to find out.


show us ya tits!

i have to say just how lovely it is to have received so many messages asking me to return to blogging. i am deeply flattered.  i truly don’t believe that i am anywhere near as good at writing as some of you make out, but thank you nonetheless. reading your messages made a huge difference to my sense of self worth and my faith in my own skills. thank you all so much (you know who you are).

i was as perplexed as i was delighted to read that people think that i am deep, and as a reflection of such imagined depths, can i say this? send me a photo of your tits and i’ll start posting again.

 

love you all (hehe)


The party

so, the party is in full swing. everyone is having a good time. the music is rocking, the booze flowing and the smoke billowing. i’m playing a game of acid chess with a hot italian chic. it involves no pieces and no board and i think i’m winning. everyone is having a great time, that is until he shows up.

“oh fuck!” i hear someone mutter and i look up and there he is, surveying the revelry. you can feel the atmosphere drain from the room. most of us try to pretend we haven’t seen him, but it does no good.
“quiet everyone!” he shouts, “there’s something i need to say.” as the sound dies down, a few eyes roll as we reluctantly look his way. “i just want you all to know that i love you. all of you.” there is a general murmur and a few ‘thanks mate’ and ‘that’s nice’. hoping that’s it, everyone tries to get back to the fun, but i’ve been here before and i know there’s no chance of that, not now. “excuse me!” he barks, drawing all our attentions back to him,” but didn’t i just say something?” you can almost taste the collective sigh.
“we love to too man.” someone says and the rest of us nod and utter in agreement.
“well then,” he demands, “don’t you think it would be a nice idea if you all starting singing some songs about me, about how cool it is that i love you all so much?” everyone realises that this cunt is way too boorish to be ignored and somebody starts humming.

the italian chic and i sneak out the back, unseen, with a couple of others, and as we’re waiting for a bus she asks me “who was that asshole?”
“oh him,” i say, “that’s god.”


What a cunt!

“cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt. cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt? cunt! cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt… cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt! cunt?”

“and that’s supposed to be what?”

“modern art, apparently”

“seriously?”

“seems so.”

“what a cunt!”


For the rest of the day

You won’t believe what happened to me on the way to work

Go on?

I bent down to tie my laces, and a crazy woman attacks me!

No shit!

Yeah! She starts slapping my ass, and when i turn to confront her, she pushes me onto my knees and shoves my face between her legs! Then, when I turn to pick up my case, she tries to bum me!

Oh my god! What did you do?

I had a hard-on for the rest of the day.

happy-dance-gif


Nothing sexier

there is nothing
sexier for me,
than a woman
writing dirty poetry.


Wondering

i’ve got this pedometer app on my phone. its really cool and tells me how far i’ve walked. i guess it works by measuring the up/down motion of each step, i’ve never really given it much thought. until today.

as i was about to go out for a jog, i checked that the app was on. it drains the battery, so i often switch it off if i know i’m settled for the evening. it was on, and in fact it said that i’d walked 3,247 paces already today. now, this was impossible. i’d only been out of bed for 20 minutes and had walked no further than the loo and the kitchen. 3,247 paces is almost two miles.

i checked the times of this supposed jaunt, only to discover that it had happened before i’d even got out of bed. then, it hit me. when i’d woken up, after listening to the news, i’d checked my phone and read my mail. a sweet and sexy friend of mine had sent me some pictures of herself, and i had spent some considerable time ‘enjoying’ them. it would seem that my trusted app is not so accurate when it comes to measuring up/down motions as i thought it was.

now i’m left wondering how many 20 minute wanks have been logged as two-mile jogs. maybe that explains why i’m putting on weight.


Asshole!

you ride me. rising and falling with growing passion and vigour, feeling me drive deeper and harder into you, feeling your lust growing with every thrust

Stop it Kyle! I’ve got ppl here!

your pussy glows with a wet, hungry heat

I fucking mean it. Stop! I can’t touch myself right now!!!

but you will … your thighs tremble and your whole body tingles with delight as you reach down and tighten my collar by a single notch

Asshole!

you see the fear in my eyes and drink it in like strong liquor – your power magnifying your pleasure a hundred-fold – you stare deep into my soul and lap up the helplessness you find there, and you tighten the collar by another notch

I kinda hate you right now!

as my panic rises, you ram yourself harder and and faster onto me, my cock bulging like my eyes, your pussy so wet and hot, it burns. you know you shouldn’t, but you tighten my collar further still. your control over me, so thrilling that you cannot help but scream with such primitive and animal delight that it sets off several car alarms

I told you! I CAN’T touch myself right now!!!

but i know you are
the terror in my eyes is so intoxicating, it sends your mind to a whole new place. and as your orgasm crashes into you like a 100 mile an hour juggernaut into a brick wall, you know you will not let go until you are spent, no matter what.

I fucking hate you! Asshole!!!

did you come?

You know i fucking did!

so who really has the power?

Asshole!
I love you.


Everyfuckingwhere

i wanna lick you
everyfuckingwhere.

lick your shoulders
and your neck,
lick your feet,
and lick your hair.

lick your belly
and your toes,
lick your asshole,
lick your nose.

lick your chin
and lick your back,
lick your nostrils,
lick your crack.

lick your ears
and your eyes,
lick your pussy,
lick your thighs.

lick your knees
and your armpits,
lick your elbows,
lick your tits.


The pigs are coming

So, the rooms we live in are provided by the charity we work for, the rent is very reasonable. they do keep nagging us though. about smoking pot in them. “please smoke your joints outside?” they keep asking, “that’s our property and we are legally liable”. of course, they have a good point, and of course, we ignore them and keep puffing away like octogenarian grannies on a the 25th mile of a marathon. thing is, the job is stressful, all that bum-wiping, and lifting, and bed-sores, and feeding, and death, and boredom and stair climbing, and caring. you need an outlet and weed was ours. well, that and e, and acid, and ska, and football hooliganism, and speed and uk surf: a genre of music that has sadly not survived.
eventually the bosses do what they got to and call the fuzz. i’m watching the box in the communal area and supping on a pint of shepherd neame, when i see four burly looking blokes and a german sheppard stop outside my room. i know instantly what has happened, and rather than panic, i get up and walk calmly into my fate of being a homeless and jobless criminal. i even manage a smile.
i lead them into my room and just point to the weed on the table next to the bong. they say “all very well and good sir,” all of them staring at my sorry little bag of grass, “but we will need you to strip.” so, i go through the humiliation of a strip-search (wishing that there had been at least one wpc there, to see my dong), and then they let the dog have a good sniff around. she is well trained and loves me, or at least how i smell. there is no other puff in my room and the only point that grabs her attention is my laundry basket. there are socks in there that, if you threw them at the wall, would stick to it, and the cops ask if i have anything in there.
“not that i know of.” i lie, knowing that the cop will have to rummage, very thoroughly through them all.
As they take me to the cop shop i think of doug.
doug and i have rooms next to each other, we smoke a lot of weed together. we score from the same geezer, every thursday, on payday. just like we did today. only difference between us is that i cycle and he walks or grabs a bus. i always get home quicker. he was just arriving, as i was leaving, which means… he’s like half an hour away. he ain’t back yet. there may well be a chance for him to avoid getting busted, if only i can get hold of him before he gets home.
the cops aren’t rough with me or anything, after all, they have what they want, and we almost have a laugh together. all the time i’m thinking of doug. “am i allowed a phone call?” i ask.
“sure.” they smile, “who do you want to call?” i tell them it’s my mate doug. “come with us.” they beckon, and i follow, assuming they are taking me to a telephone. all i wanna say to him is
‘get out of the fucking house man! the pigs are coming!’ they lead me into a room where i see doug, sat, being interviewed by two other cops.
“here is is”, says one cop, “what do you want to say to him?”
“get out of the fucking house man!” i say, “the pigs are coming!”


Oh God

oh god!
how i love your eyes,
and your tits,
and your thighs.

oh god!
how i love your toes,
and your butt,
and your nose,

and god!
how i love your armpits
as much
as i love your tits.

oh god!
how i love your ass,
like a cow
loves the grass.

but god!
how i love your tits,
but i
already said this.


Amazing

There are just some people, who, without really possessing any amazing qualities, are nevertheless, amazing. Usually this is because they think they are, when they are not. Perhaps this immense sense of self denial, is what actually makes them amazing.
I just had a brief conversation with a woman I met coming back from the store, who was such a creature. We bumped into each other because I was not really looking where I was going, my mind on other things, and this resulted in the very English tradition of us both apologising repeatedly to each other. Why was she amazing? Because despite being older even than I am and having let her body go, to chips and KFC many decades ago, and looking like a poorly strung up sausage, she was dressed as though she were Beyonce. Fish-nets, mini-skirt and so much cleavage on display, that if i were to attempt to bare that much flesh, I would have to strip naked, and probably twice.
For the moment of conversation we shared, I got the impression that she was a thoroughly nice old girl. Not bright, but friendly and open and nice, and as she waddled off in front of me, shovelling chips into her mouth, between gulps of White Ass Cider, I wondered and marvelled at human nature and our ability to delude ourselves.
Then I thought about myself: 50, still with a mohawk and sporting bright camo-pants and wondered how ridiculous I must look. I was too scared to actually answer the question but then two 20 something hotties walked past me and giggled. So I got my answer anyway.
I arrived home with the feeling that we can all be amazing, if we are only brave and stupid enough to try.


A little secret

Shhh, and I’ll let you in on a little secret.

I have very dark eyes, they are almost black, and I don’t need sunglasses. I do wear them though, in the summer, but only so that I can look at women’s tits without them realizing.

I am worried however that the slobbering might give the game away.


Eurotrash douche hipster

I got my first piece of hate mail, and I have to say I was as delighted as I was proud. Bravely commenting as an anonymous user on my recent poem about breasts, this brilliant fellow called me a Eurotrash, douche hipster who looks like a sloppy version of DeNiro’s character in Taxi Driver. I almost peed myself  with delight. I am seriously considering using this quote on my about page. I tried to track him down, so I could thank him properly, but his IP address only led me to Baltimore. I have a few pals there, but I know it can’t be any of them, as they can all actually write.  Really, I would recommend reading the whole comment, it is hilarious and there is a wonderful line about me writing horrible poetry about sex to make up for my lack of a life. Feel free to reply to his lovely comment, and, if you are reading Mr Anonymous, please come back and say more, I think you are fantastic and I would love to give you a guest spot.