A little girl called Goldilocks
Did stumble on a house
The smell of porridge struck her
Her hunger it would douse
So in she went without a thought
To who could be inside
And there on the table
The porridge she eye-spied
So impolite, that little girl
She scoffed it down in one
Then sent off for a wander
Around the house for fun
She nosied here, she nosied there
She snooped about the place
Then Goldilocks grew tired
And had needs to rest her face
So up to bed she did retire
Without a thought to who
May actually be the owner
Of the house, the bed, and loo
Unfortunately for Goldilocks
She didn’t lock the door
And into house a bear did strut
Porridge, he did adore
But found it gone and sniffed a treat
The bear he walked upstairs
Where peeping out from blankets
A pile of golden hairs
The Kodiak took early lunch
On the girl who’d broken in
To house, and food, and bed
That she taken as a sin
(Image courtesy of Kittybaka-chan on deviantart.com)
This is a post from my friend and fellow blogger Alienora Taylor. Ali is a superb writer who always speaks her mind, usually with hilarious consequences. I use her knowledge of the spoken word as a benchmark for my own. Please check out her site by clicking on the link in her name. Thank you.
Vulgar, Viz-loving and voluptuous!
Well, that’s two out of three! For ‘voluptuous’, I think you have to read, ‘voluminous’! I am, to the female figure what the marquee (designed to hold several hundred!) is to the one-man tent!
But, from the days when I was scrote high to a pixie, I have been the epitome of the vulgar, the crude, the base and the four-letter.
Limericks had me giggling from primary school onwards – and really RUDE ones caused weaknesses in bladder function on many an occasion.
Anything which contained genitals, bodily functions and bonking had me falling about the place in uncontrollable spasms of mirth.
I think I was the only girl in my circle who accompanied her boyfriend into newsagents’ to buy Top Shelf magazines – and then, instead of being turned on by them, laughed like a particularly noisy drain at their priceless ‘literature’. Readers’ Wives was an especial favourite, as I recall. Battersea Dogs’ Home, more like!
And then, in my thirties, I was introduced to Viz by a male friend. What an epiphany that was! Oh my!
I was transported, immediately, to guffawing Glory. Whilst certain po-faced members of my outer circle frowned and muttered about Political Correctness, I am afraid I fell about laughing at the Fat Slags et al.
A male relative shares my delight in this most bawdy of ‘books’ and usually has a few back copies hanging around, often in the toilet! Apt, really, since many would claim (probably rightly) that my sense of humour has more than a touch of the potty about it…
The dear boy has loaned me a big pile of (oops – inadvertent double entendre there!) the things – and they, along with my now-battered copy of ‘Roger’s Profanisaurus’, occupy prime position between the bog roll and the khazi door!
And let me tell you, such diverting and edifying reading material certainly – er – keeps things in motion, shall we say?!
After all, had I never encountered Viz, I would not be able to pepper my conversation with such classics as, ‘wizard’s sleeve’, ‘touching cloth’ – and ‘waiting at the other bus stop’…
This may make some people reading my post wrinkle up their eyes and purse their lips like a cat’s anus, but – by one of those little ironies my life is so full of – the truth is that I have barely a trace of true prejudice in my body. I love PEOPLE; it doesn’t matter what they look like, sound like; I don’t care what their sexual orientation is or what colour/nationality they are…
I think it is very healthy to find belly-aching humour in the human condition.
So, I shall continue to be vulgar, Viz-addicted and a caravanserai in my own right until the great cosmic chain flushes me down the pan of eternity!