My covers could hardly be called virginally white these days. They had taken on a whorey tattiness that went remarkably well with my lumpy matress.
The man’s neck hairs would have stood on end, had he not been bald, but taking courage, he strutted forward with all the machismo of an old nun, who had just taken communion.
Yay verily, though I glide through the shadows of the Mound of Venus, I shall fear no breakage! (Ode to Durex)
My morning constitutional had done me justice. My right to sweat like a pig had been upheld.
The emerald crown of this King of trees shone like a beacon.
On this eerie moon-swept night, the mist recoiled from the pallid lake, as if scared of its own reflection. Not a good omen.
The law protects institutionalised crime!
I know, all this makes about as much sense as watering ones lawn would, right after a tsunami had hit.
And again, fornicatory salutations to you all!