P
pillow
Guest
Hes going back to L.A,
so very far away,
so have a little cry,
and for his return pray.
MORRISSEYS CLOSET.
Oh my, youre a terrible stalker.Hiding in Morrisseys shrubbery,you waited for him to pop out for some yoghurts didnt you?,and now youve sneaked inside his mansion.Tripped over the umbrella stand, oops!what to do? what to do?
aaaaaah- haaaaaa...
the wardrobe beckons,
its door ajar,
slip inside the enveloping darkness,lying in your undies on top of a pile of satin sheets,the very same sheets that morrissey lies in and cries...
[perhaps thats not all he does these days,
what with giving up his vow of chastity,]
''ooooooo-er,'' you think to yourself,
as you breath in the soft scent of fabric-conditioner...
BANG!!!
there goes the door!
hes back.
Morrissey!
you listen as he re-erects his umbrella stand and puts the shopping down,
''hmmm''he sighs,''I hope theres something erotic on telly...
Im having one of my ''peculiar moods''...those little things the doctor slipped me really seem to do the trick...''
HICCUP!
hiccup!
HICCUP!
[you always get hiccups when slightly aroused,]
HICCUP!
hiccup!
a pregnant pause...
I think youve been found out!
because guess whose coming up the stairs to investigate?
clump,
clump,
clump,
clump'
the door flies open and light floods in,
Morrissey towers over you,
glowering.
Hes wearing a partly unbuttoned frilly yellow blouse,
and revealing a lascivious amount of lightly furred man bosom.
Hes got an old plimsole in his right hand,
its got:''FOR TRESSPASSERS''written on it in red ink.
''5th one this week!oh you filthy little urchin!get out of my linen closet before i strangle you!''
grabs you by the ankles,
suprisingly strong,
rips off those pants,
stares down at your birthday suit...
He flushes with obvious sexual pleasure and growls:
''Im going to give you a spanking youll NEVER forget!''
Morrissey begins to sing:
''unruly boys,who will not grow......they must be taken in hand,
unruly girls,who will not settle down....
THEY MUST BE TAKEN IN HAND!''
puts you across his knees,
his rings pressing into your buttocks,
as youre held down and given a sound thrashing,
the plim sole comes down again and again,
his sweat runs down your crack as you beg for mercy,
he flings you to the ground,
bellowing:
''IM UP TO MY EYES ON PROZAC,VIAGRA AND DANONE-ACTIV YOGHURTS,
I AM KING MORRISSEY!AAARG!I DONT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR WHIMPERING!''
he unzips and starts to give it to you good and proper on the persian rug,
taking out 43 years of pent up frustration on your humble behind.
he suddenly grunts,
and passes out crosseyed barely 15 seconds into it,
lying still in a heap with his calvin kleins twisted round his knees,
glassy eyed.
oh dear.
hes had a heart attack,
youve killed morrissey!
hes DEAD!
dead as a door-nail,
but did he die happy?
and what will they write on his tombstone?
so very far away,
so have a little cry,
and for his return pray.
MORRISSEYS CLOSET.
Oh my, youre a terrible stalker.Hiding in Morrisseys shrubbery,you waited for him to pop out for some yoghurts didnt you?,and now youve sneaked inside his mansion.Tripped over the umbrella stand, oops!what to do? what to do?
aaaaaah- haaaaaa...
the wardrobe beckons,
its door ajar,
slip inside the enveloping darkness,lying in your undies on top of a pile of satin sheets,the very same sheets that morrissey lies in and cries...
[perhaps thats not all he does these days,
what with giving up his vow of chastity,]
''ooooooo-er,'' you think to yourself,
as you breath in the soft scent of fabric-conditioner...
BANG!!!
there goes the door!
hes back.
Morrissey!
you listen as he re-erects his umbrella stand and puts the shopping down,
''hmmm''he sighs,''I hope theres something erotic on telly...
Im having one of my ''peculiar moods''...those little things the doctor slipped me really seem to do the trick...''
HICCUP!
hiccup!
HICCUP!
[you always get hiccups when slightly aroused,]
HICCUP!
hiccup!
a pregnant pause...
I think youve been found out!
because guess whose coming up the stairs to investigate?
clump,
clump,
clump,
clump'
the door flies open and light floods in,
Morrissey towers over you,
glowering.
Hes wearing a partly unbuttoned frilly yellow blouse,
and revealing a lascivious amount of lightly furred man bosom.
Hes got an old plimsole in his right hand,
its got:''FOR TRESSPASSERS''written on it in red ink.
''5th one this week!oh you filthy little urchin!get out of my linen closet before i strangle you!''
grabs you by the ankles,
suprisingly strong,
rips off those pants,
stares down at your birthday suit...
He flushes with obvious sexual pleasure and growls:
''Im going to give you a spanking youll NEVER forget!''
Morrissey begins to sing:
''unruly boys,who will not grow......they must be taken in hand,
unruly girls,who will not settle down....
THEY MUST BE TAKEN IN HAND!''
puts you across his knees,
his rings pressing into your buttocks,
as youre held down and given a sound thrashing,
the plim sole comes down again and again,
his sweat runs down your crack as you beg for mercy,
he flings you to the ground,
bellowing:
''IM UP TO MY EYES ON PROZAC,VIAGRA AND DANONE-ACTIV YOGHURTS,
I AM KING MORRISSEY!AAARG!I DONT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR WHIMPERING!''
he unzips and starts to give it to you good and proper on the persian rug,
taking out 43 years of pent up frustration on your humble behind.
he suddenly grunts,
and passes out crosseyed barely 15 seconds into it,
lying still in a heap with his calvin kleins twisted round his knees,
glassy eyed.
oh dear.
hes had a heart attack,
youve killed morrissey!
hes DEAD!
dead as a door-nail,
but did he die happy?
and what will they write on his tombstone?
