See Mary Lou Again,
Across Crowded Dance Floor,
With Another;
Touching,
Caressing,
Groping,
Expertly;
With Those Nimble Fingers,
Just Like I Remember.
Now Kissing Him,
Must Be Warm Wet Kisses;
Those Wild Wanting Lips,
Sending Electric Like Currents,
Down The Man’s Spinal Column,
Not Unlike The Millions She Gave Me,
That Wintry Day Last December,
On Carpeted Floor,
Where We First Made Love,
After I Struggled In Vain To Unpack,
Following The Long Flight Around The World.
Pour Me Another Vodka,
2 Ice Cubes Please,
Yes Shaken Not Stirred,
For Tonight,
I See Blood On The Dance Floor,
Yes, Tonight;
I Got A License To Kill.

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Time,
She Surely Has A Most Twisted Sense Of Humour.
I Am Not Armstrong,
Bobbing Up And Down Lunar Surface,
Except As In Days Past,
When As Kid Dreamy In Bouncing Castle,
Imagined My Baby Strides,
To Be Giant Leaps For Adams Race.

Time,
She Too Often Leaves Me Out In Cold.
I Missed Laying Stone Upon The Sphinx,
And On Stone Henge Too!
I Am Not In The Age Of Conquering Shaka,
Encircling Enemy Man, With Formation Of The Cow Head,
Or General Tzu,
Writing A War Art,
Upon Sword Blade,
And Severed Heads Of Ho’s Two Consorts.

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Every Man Young,
Dreams Of Lofty Grandeur,
Of Conquering Lands Foreign And Alien,
And Women And Loot In Between,
And When Returning From Battle,
He Comes Praised As Conquering Hero,
And As Gods Of Old,
Feasts On Ambrosia And Nectar,
Till His Days’ End.
They However Only Dream On,
Until They Wake Up,
Bald And Fat,
Old And Fart,
Waiting To Die.
No Grandeur,
No Women Angelic,
Or Money Overflow.
Just Plain Old Men,
Reigning Upon Lofty Kingdom,
Of Cold Bed,
Cold Women,
Cold Children,
And Crowns Upon Crown Of Debt.

What About My Fate You Ask?
My Fate And My Hope Are One;
That Tales Of My Quiet Revolution,
Shall Be Whispered About,
In Your Duukas,
In Your Motokas,
And Beds.
Lovers Whispering To One Another,
A Verse Or Two,
In Passion.
Men In Battle, Learned Or Not,
Reciting Line Or Two,
For Courage,
Or Perhaps To Warm Failing Heart,
Of Dying Man At Comrade Side.

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 Amazing & Funny Photos

Will Never Let You Go Let Me Play With You Slip Out, Slip Out, Please Everyone Love Coca-Cola Beautiful White Peacock. Bam Bam Bhole Creative iPad Back Design Everyone Want Freedom Selfshot With Cat – Hey Hands Off Funny Hair Style – Mustache On the Back of Head

She Often Complains,
To Girlfriends 2 And 5,
Who On This Occasion Of Monologue,
Choose To Lend Now Familiar Ear,
As She Launches Into Latest Sorrow,
(Yet Privately I Think She Rejoices)
Of How He Makes Love To Her,
To Jazzy Tunes Of Mingus, Monk And Miles,
And Heart Throbbed Soul Ballads;
Of Luther,
And Whitney,
And Lionel.
White Girl, Barely Out Of Teens,
Black Man,40 Going On 50,
Cleaving,
Heaving,
Across Generations Of Passion.
Does She Perhaps Wish,
That He Should Again,
Leap Backwards Across Generation,
And Switch To The Venga Boys,
And Then To That Most Technotronic Of Sounds,
Go Boom, Boom, Boom,
As That Venga Bus Too Goes;
‘Boom Boom Boom,
I Want You In My Room

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That She Loved 10 And 1 Before Him,
Or That Her Lips Belonged To 10 And 1 Before Him,
Did Not Take A Morsel Of Sadness From Him;
Like Oliver Demanding More,
Like Oliver Never Receiving More,
He Still Dreamed And Prostrated And Loved,
And Never Received Back,
Except For The Morsels Of Course;
‘Thank You Darling’ In Afterthought Mail Or,
‘Hello Honey On Chance Evening Meeting.
These Like A Pair Of New Shoes In My Childhood,
Were Enough To Send Him Into A Flurry Of Activity,
And Straight To The Chopping Board,
To Cook Her A Meal(Or Perhaps Bake A Cake):
Of Rhythm And Rhyme,
Of Lyric And Limmerick.
For Her He Lay Down A Carpet Of Words,
Flowers Of Verse;
Scented With Prose,
And The Declaration Of Undying Love,
Even If She Had Been With 10 And 1 Before Him.
On This Carpet She Now Walks(0r Perhaps Flies) ,
Into The Arms Of 10 And 2 Lovers,
And Not A Piece Left For Him,
Except For The Morsels Of Course

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Funny Veg Jokes

Paper Was Tough, Really?
Dad: "Why Didn't You Go For The Exam?" Son: "Paper Was Tough" Dad: "Without Going, How Did You Know?" Son: "Pap

Mast Shayari By Ustaad Fursat Fatte Haal Khan
Shayari Ke Sartaaz Ustaad Fursat Fatte Haal Khan Ji Ne Apni Jawani Mein Apni Lover Ke Liye Ek Sher Likha Tha. Kaash M

Sabse Jyada Nasha Kis Cheez Mein Hota Hai?
Teacher Ne Bachho Ko Samjhane Ke Liye Usnke Ek Sawal Puhca. Teacher: "Batao Bacho Sabse Jyada Nasha Kis Cheez Mein Ho

Good Dad, Bad Son
Ek Engineering Student Ne Hostel Se Apne Father Ko Letter Likha: No Money, No Fun, Your Son. Kuch Dinon Baad

Log To Kanjus Hi Bahut Hai
Santa Ki Kamar Mein Bahut Dard Ho Raha Thha, Biwi Se Bola. Santa: "Ja Sath Wale Sharma Ji Se Iodex Maang Ke La" Pa

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