Sabrina's Book of Hours

I didn't go to Glastonbury, but I do know Arthur.

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Location: Manchester, United Kingdom

I am a city girl smothered by a vacuum packed, frieze dried, ready-made life on loan. Why can't it be freshly picked, hand made, jam-packed and juicy? Don't disinfect me - there's nothing wrong with a bit of dirt.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

A Rude Poem that Rhymes

I met a girl with whiskers
She had them on her cat
I asked to stroke her pussy
She said, "No, kiss my twat."

7 Comments:

Blogger Greg said...

Yo.

Get well soon.

g.

PS- you should seek me out on Facebook, that being, apparently, where all the cool kids hand out.

8:16 pm  
Blogger Amazed said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

8:40 pm  
Blogger Amazed said...

Hi Greg,

Will do, but I'm not sure I know your surname. Hurl it over here and I will send you an invite.

Sabrina

10:43 pm  
Blogger Greg said...

Good point.

It's Daly. Without any eyes, ees, or other friperies.

G.

1:19 pm  
Blogger Stuart said...

Ha. You're rude.

Really want to know what the deleted comment said.

10:37 am  
Blogger Amazed said...

It was written by me, so it wasn't the taste police, rest assured.

11:36 am  
Blogger Stuart said...

Ha. Oh right. I thought it was someone making feline suggestions, perhaps.

10:02 am  

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