11 August 2008
Lord Likely’s Big Hairy Ballads
Despite all evidence to the contrary, there are those in this wide world who would have you believe that I, Lord Likely (Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentleman of Action) am nothing more than a lecherous buffoon, a lewd and undignified scoundrel, born without a shred of decency and cursed with a cold, loveless soul.
To which I say: bollocks.
I have romance flowing through my veins, and frequently dispense large, sticky globules of love from the bell-end of my willy-stick. Loveless? Pah!
To further demonstrate my sensitive side, I have decided to share with you, my dear readers, a selection of my (as yet) unpublished poetry, from a tome I have entitled ‘The Salty Tears of the Love Python’.
I do hope you enjoy them, in a very moist way.
and consumes my very soul.
Then it pours out of my cock-end
And into your arse-hole.
The sea of love rises so fast
that in it we could swim.
But not before I dived head-first
Into your gaping quim.
The cascading falls of my desire
pour down upon your chest
and if there’s any left thereafter
well, you may swallow the rest.
You wanted me to shower you with money,
I said I’d give you gold instead,
But you did not seem to find it funny
When I pissed upon your head.
Cupid flew and fluttered in the summer sky
When my lordly frame he did suddenly espy.
He drew his bow and then let his arrow glide
Until it came to a rest deep in my noble backside.
“You little twat!” I roared, considerably in pain.
Then I kicked the ruddy sod right in the plums
He shan’t do that again.
Catherine the Great
Oh Catherine you were the greatest,
The greatest in the sack,
When it came to the art of love-making,
You really had the knack.
You loved me in every possible way,
North, East, West and South
You loved me with every part of you
You loved me with your mouth.
You knew the Karma Sutra inside out
Positions strange and new
Our bodies swallowed each other up
Whilst you gobbled on my goo.
Oh Catherine, I still think of you to-day
The time we had was thrilling
Plus you were a bargain too
One whole night for just a shilling.
A Helping Hand
Take me in your hand my dear,
And never ever stop
I’ll let you know when I am ready
By spunking out the top.
The Sex Train
All ladies may board the Sex Train,
Come snow or sleet or even rain.
Our destination is called Orgasm
Located just inside that chasm.
The train will travel far and wide
Up that tunnel and deep inside
Then we will have to change the track
And venture up the other crack.
The big pink engine never tires
Though its driver sometimes perspires
The engine is stoked and as hot as hell
So come along, m’dear, and ring my bell.
We shall ride and ride for hours on end
The Sex Train will not sway nor will it bend
And I hope it is not too much of a shock
When I reveal that by ‘train’ I mean
Of course, this is not the first time I have succeeded in mastering the poetic voice. Regular readers may recall a rather wonderful ode I composed in honour of Queen Victoria, which I rather cleverly entitled ‘An Ode to Queen Victoria.’
You can listen to my dulcet tones reading that same masterpiece below. Warning, my dear readers, the sounds of my incredibly sensual tones may lead to spontaneous ejaculations, for which I cannot be held personally responsible.
Marvellous, yes? Curiously, I did not receive a knighthood for that particular piece, no matter how many times I stood outside Buckingham Palace, bellowing it into the windows. ‘Tis a strange world sometimes.
Anyhow, I have bared my ample soul, and poured myself naked and shivering onto the page, an experience which has left me quite worn out, I am afraid.
Plus, I really have the urge to bonk someone senseless.
- Lord Likely.
humor-blogs.com is a poet, and does not know it.