I was sitting in the office with my colleague Tracey
[Once of the filthiest sluts I have ever met
A woman so indiscriminate in her selection of lovers
That no man could ever be ugly enough to be denied a shag]
When we heard the news about the Twin Towers attack,
And Tracey was seized by a bout of laughing
Which resulted in her gobbing out a lump of phlegm
Green and hideously odorous, almost alive in fact.
I recognised the symptoms of her respiratory ailment
And, since I knew that when she got really going
With a good old bout of combined giggling and regurgitation,
Only one thing could bring her back to reality.
And you will not need to be a genius to realise
That what she needed was to be fucked silly
By at least half a dozen strong hairy men,
And preferably up her fat shitter.
Thus it came to pass that I rushed into the corridor
And yelled out to one and all "Tracey's got the giggles",
Whereupon every single male in the office
[Including the one-legged printer Eduardo]
Dropped what he was doing and rushed forward valiantly
Eager to get their hands on Tracey
And give her one up her waiting flabby tush
Before it got too well-lubricated and gaping.
So if anyone ever asks me "Where were you when Kennedy got shot?"
Or "Where were you when Princess Di bit the concrete pillar?"
I always say "I really don't have a fucking clue old boy".
But I sure as Hell remember where I was when the Twin Towers crumbled,
As I was fourth in line to poke Tracey so her back-crack
Was pretty well greased by my three agile predecessors
And I had the advantage of her 90-decibel screams of desire
To encourage me to come quickly so as to allow the others to get stuck in.
(What Tracey saw out of the window as
she got several items up her rear-end)
Bronze trophy winner
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