ONE, TWO, THREE,
Jimmy's instincts, once sure, have gone awry;
He's no longer troubling to clarify
What variety of female to chase --
Can't see through the finery and lace,
Grasp the nuances, detect inclinations.
He's getting himself in situations
All men of sense consider living death:
Beds Ms. Moralities that blundereth
Through sessions of protest, wailing, complaint;
Undresses delicate flowers that faint
Before a single thrust widens the straight;
Gets stuck with incessant talkers,
Is shadowed by lovelorn stalkers:
I'd rather abstain than endure such pain.
What's Oswhore's function at work? Need I ask?
He kisses ass, and is skilled at the task:
False concern's always on his monkey face --
He gladly gulps self-respect, leaves no trace.
The kicked fawning dog look's his masterpiece:
Some managers lap up such ego-grease!
Oswhore lives off the fact he has no will
And only cringes: the insecure swill
The flattery of this grovelling elf
As if it will give them a stronger self.
Yes, ass kissing's Oswhore's one stand-out trait
And it returns him a handsome rebate:
He remains employed, can pay bills and rent --
Even has a wife, although impotent!
What a dilemma, my taste in females:
I go for beauties changeable as gales
Blowing over a treeless desert plain.
Pride, petulance, moodiness: what a drain!
But my inclinations say, "Why frolic
Without the friction? Who needs bucolic
Relationships? Where's a chance for inner
Growth without a challenge? Saint and sinner
Alike need obstacles to overcome."
So there you have it: life's far less humdrum
If spent dueling with prima donna brats --
Delicious cuddly cats who thrive on spats!
Have you attuned yourself, funloving steed,
To sense the reverberations of need?
When your girl gets tense, inwardly surges,
Do her nerves singe yours, bring about urges
To clasp her tightly to your chest,
Merge with the heartbeat of her breast?
Are you blest with love's second sight?
Do you know when the trembling light
Of her eyes demands an "all night"?
Your girl's in Robert's arms twice a week;
With Randalson she plays "Take a peek!"
Jefferson diddles her on odd Sundays;
Michael masturbates her on first Mondays.
Surely, your claims of easy domination
Are only senile discombobulation.
A true bathroom habitue,
Priss-Miss washes two times a day;
Nor's she ever been known to yen
For the companionship of men.
So for whom does she always dress,
Put on pretty silk stockings, pressed
Skirts that slide halfway up her thighs?
Who receives many heartfelt sighs?
Seems she keeps a St. Bernard beast
Outside town -- a replete cock-feast
(slobbering on her belly-wise,
mirroring love with wide canine eyes)
Makes distain for her own species
Not only possible, but easy.
Sweet One, if you don't stop crying at every turn,
Sulking about misery-eyed, wincing as if burned
By the stove, insisting on apologies in profusion;
If you don't stop willfully sowing confusion,
Twisting innocent words into gibes at your expense,
Demanding pleadings and presents in recompense;
If you don't stop throwing tantrums in the name of love,
Then I'm going to seek calmer waters, my Dove!
Oswhore grovels and clings with his eyes,
Vents forth tortured sighs, appears to cry;
Bewails whatever the boss bewails,
Doesn't desist, becomes deathly pale.
Oswhore has no personality --
It's been lost in alignment with She.
Why all the trouble, bother, and fear?
Oswhore wants to be employed next year.
Faith's slender, lovely, frigid, fond of flirtation;
Joy's stout, plain, hot-blooded, primed to fuck the nation.
The two -- Beauty and Hunger -- are well liked in town:
The former ropes 'em in, the latter beds 'em down.
Sue's never hopped into bed for free:
For all dalliance, money's the key.
She'll splay her legs -- part her nether lips --
For tongue tickles and toothy nip-nips;
She'll heatedly fondle, lick, and suck
While teaching youngsters how to fuck.
Why does Sue never lack for a lay?
Quite simple: she's the one that pays.
ONE, TWO, THREE,
© 2001-2009 by Sliptongue
All rights reserved.