Ode to the depillosed lower limb

Oh, fair and wondrous thing

With a softliness that reaches unboundedly

From the unmentionable bits at the top to the tootsies at the other end

As smooth as a slightly stubbly baby's bottom.

Ode to leg hair

I wandered lonely as a Duck
That floats on high o'er vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a ruck,
A host, of thick black hairy Frills
Beside the Calf, beneath the knees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on a sparkly bangle,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of an ankle:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in hirsute dance.

The thighs beneath them danced; but they
Out-did the jiggling thighs in glee:-
A Woolley Mammoth could not but be gay
In such a pilose company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What hair the show to me had brought:

For oft when on my bristles I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the thick, black Frills.

Ode to junk food

O, junk food.

You were in my house 

And you lived in my fridge

And in my cupboards

And on my shelves

And I ate you.

Then I went healthy

And I cleared you out of my fridge

And out of my cupboards

And off my shelves

And I threw you away.

Then I stopped being healthy

And I looked for you in my fridge

And in my cupboards

And on my shelves

And you weren't there.

Woe.

Woe.

Woe.

Study and alcohol

Yea and verily, dost not it seem that the weddage of these two finest examples of human endeavour be foretold e'en unto the very heavens?

It's a very traditional combination, at least. It doesn't seem that long ago I was writing my thesis on a bottle of Jamesons. (Not literally on a bottle of Jamesons, that would have required a somewhat greater sense of balance than that of which I was possessed, particularly after a couple of shots. Neither was the subject of the thesis a bottle of Jamesons. At least it wasn't intended to be. Though that would explain the final mark.)

And yet, now, when I try to get the study muscle going with a quiet glass of red, instead of hours of profitable learning, I end up asleep on the couch.

I can think of a few possible explanations for this:

• I should be using whiskey, not red wine
  
  
• The study matter is so boring I would fall asleep regardless of the study aid
  
  
• All this going to work nonsense has made my study muscle flabby - I need to spend less time in the office and more time in the pub
  

In the interests of scientific rigour, I intend to thoroughly investigate each of these hypothoses, in order to arrive at a conclusion of some sort.

Yea and verily.

Goldilocks and the heater

Once upon a time in the world there lived a girl.

She was a sensible girl, and when winter set in, she would put on a jumper to keep warm. But as the chill of winter made its inevitable way through the flesh and bones of her home, she would turn on a heater to increase the ambient temperature and thus reduce her bodily shivering.

But, alas. The heater would increase the ambient temperature to an uncomfortable degree. Not only would she end up removing her jumper, but she often would find herself perspiring.

As a sensible girl, she would then turn the heater down. And in due course the ambient temperature would drop enough to put the jumper back on. Unfortunately, the ambient temperature would continue to drop to the point of somatic discomfort, and the heater would have to be turned up again.

Poor girl! Sensible she may have been, yet she was unable to regulate the ambient temperature. The room was either too hot or too cold.

Oh! If only there was a way it could be just right!

Sausages are forever

Sausages are forever

They are all I need to feed me

They stink up my fridge and tease me

Their smell won't leave in the night

I've no hope that it might desert me

Sausages are forever

Hold one up and then sauce it

Smell it, bite it and devour it

I can eat every part

The smell stays in my fridge to taunt me

I don't need smells

For what good will smells do me?

Sausage smells never leave me

For when sausages are gone

Their smell lingers on

Sausage smells are forever

Lingering round my little fridgidaire

Unlike sausages, the smells lingaire

Smells are vexatious things

Which stay longer than is fair

I don't need smells

For what good will smells do me?

Sausage smells never leave me

For when sausages are gone

Their smell lingers on

Sausage smells are forever, forever, forever

Sausage smells are forever, forever, forever

Forever and ever

Less is

LESSS.