WARNING-This post may contain nuts and by ‘nuts,’ I mean the word ‘penis’.
Paolo was a man that was pure prime meat. Not the stuff that’s marked ‘sale’ and which has been in the freezer so long that it looks like Donatella Versace. No, he was the type of meat that had not only been specifically hand reared and fed from the teats of heavenly nubile virgins whilst resting on a bed of feathers which had been plucked from the exotic birds of the Galapagos Island, but meat that was then lulled into a sleep induced coma so as not to feel any pain.
His body, which was a deep, rich, brown hue, had obviously been sculpted from the finest bronze and lovingly hand-crafted by the Goddess Venus herself. And oh, those thighs! On a cool, crisp morning, I would set my alarm clock and
follow watch him leave his home in order to go jogging. The mist of the morning chill, would cause his shorts to dampen, thus in turn, melding themselves to his perfect male form and by perfect male form, I mean his penis. (Seriously, I can’t understand why no one reads my tales. That last line was sheer bloody poetry)
I would catch my breath in awe as
it he bounced up and down on the pavement, feet pounding on the littered streets, and even the trees would gasp in wonder at the magnificence of the bulk contained within those shorts, wishing that they too, had trunks as majestic as his…and no, I’m not talking about his penis but his thighs. (Do you think that this might be the reason why my offer of being a freelance writer for ‘Mother and Baby,’ magazine was rejected?)
Anyway, on to today’s letter which is…what? You didn’t actually think this story was going anywhere did you? You did? Oh, my bad.
Cockney rhyming slang-Edgar Allan Poes
Example-How comes Sarah Jessica Parker’s boat race (face) looks like a foot without the Edgar Allan Poes?