By wordley |
Date: 2002 Apr 05
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Heart stood, bruised and battered, his rhythym out of sync,|
Ego knelt beside him, rubbing his discoloured form, deflated;
They both glanced down at Mr.Macho laying dead on the floor of masculinity,
Its be-medallioned form riddled with machine gun-like bullets of feminine-spat lead;
The perp. had left by now, her wake a still, stunned crowd,
parted by her going, not yet come back together;
The crime?... she caught her man with another woman, his hands on her butt, his tight suit wet with sweat as he flung her round the floor;
She stood there as he completed his turn and his face froze
"h..h..oney..I didn't know this would happen, honest!!..."
She let rip..." you two-timing, four-flushing, pot-bellied excuse for a John FREAKIN' Travolta!...Does your honey KNOW you wear a wig, a corset and you have a two-inch weaner??!!"
You could feel each verbal slug tear home, he getting smaller and smaller, she no where to be seen.
SHE turned, holstered her verbal UZZI and left, stage right..
So boys.... the next time there's a dance take the wife,...it's safer, you may get blown, but not away!!