People oftimes consider Great Lake-bordering Wisconsin
To be the one of the loveliest states of the Union,
A paradise for lovers of forests and German-style sausages.
Ah! What a wondrous playground is to be found there,
Agricultural lands a-plenty whose waving wheatfields
Reflect the majesty of her beauteous cities
(the mind dwells on Racine and Milwaukee in particular
whose municipal fresh air is a joy unto the lungs of man).
Needless to say, this mid-western utopia for the soul
Is totally unlike the mafia-infested horror of Illinois and Michigan.
But there is a darker side to this dream destination, oh verily,
For I have been there and met more horror than you could ever imagine
(even if you had a really fecund imagination and a big dildo).
The sad tale which follows involved my Grand Tour on the back of a truck,
Specially reinforced with strongest Detroit steel to cater for
The staggering weight of my fiancée of the fickle moment,
The supremely bloated and hirsute Agnes "Porky" Scheissburger,
A giant of a woman with the sex-drive of a mad rhinoceros,
And only heir to her Daddy's enormous brewery fortune.
Thus, we toured from town to town through the gracious state
Everywhere gorging on the local delicacies of sauerkraut and beer
(with an occasional sidetrack towards a McNorwegian herringburger)
And, by a strange coincidence, every single evening we ended up
With our heads in the porcelain bowl, regurgitating our tasty meals,
Throwing up half-digested fatty lumps of gristle by the bucket-load,
Praying for deliverance from our self-inflicted abdominal agonies
(but how could we resist, they were so huge on the plate?)
One tragic evening in a tastefully decorated love-motel
On the outskirts of elegant Madison (where the dance comes from)
We were set upon by the enraged motel manager, one Mr Snottig,
A fifth generation Swedish-American of immense vulgarity,
Innate animal brutality and lack of basic human kindness,
Whose bestial strength and body odour could have won prizes.
I fortunately had time to run wisely like a seven foot five
Basketball hero chased by a runaway Hummer V8,
And hide in a convenient evergreen Finnish fir tree,
Whence I could see and hear the savage Mr Snottig
Rip dear Agnes's head off her shoulders, crush it utterly
Between his butch Scandinavian fingers and shove the bits
Down the toilet bowl as a sacrificial offering to the sewer god.
And for what? Just because we'd puked up a couple of gallons
Of the finest Milwaukee beer on the bed during a love-bout.
Had the man no sense of romance? Was he an unfeeling beast?
Oh sweet Lord, I shall never return to lovely Wisconsin again,
Especially since Daddy has placed a contract on my handsome hide.
Adding your comment:
Anyway, how is it that you have been to so many places? Are you really Jimmy Nail and on tour singing croccodile shoes? Is that why you hide you face behind the scarf? Who else famous is Geordie? Oh, yeah, that funny guy! Forgotten his name! He's funny though, even if he does offend a lot of people, and is sexist. But I'm NOT a feminist. You can tell as many menstrual jokes as you want, it won't bother me.
