Hangover

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Hangover

It's one of my sillier tricks,
Hence the reason I'm getting so pudgy.
Whisky and cider don't mix
And I'm sure that I've swallowed the budgie.

A quiet meal

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A quiet meal

It began when my starter, the fish
left a bone in my throat but no wish
and as we moved on to the main
I was in some considerable pain.

Having trouble with something called breathing
which set my poor girlfriend to screaming,
'Please, is there a doc in the place
he's turning quite blue in the face.'

Then a lavatory cleaner named Madge,
laying claim to advanced first-aid badge
offered to help render service,
though the beer on her breath made me nervous.

My girlfriend yelled, 'Quick please begin,
he's not paid yet, you must save his skin,'
but instead of the Heimlich manoeuvre,
she brandished the hose of a hoover,

stuck the pointy end right past my tonsils,
turned the suction to maximum until
the bone popped out, stopping the pain
and yes, I was breathing again.

The waiter played light the ordeal,
'Please enjoy sir the rest of your meal.'
I'm finished though, no more high-rolling,
next time, we are off tenpin bowling.

The honeymoon

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The honeymoon

With her ankles peripheral in vision,
The young man was set on his mission
To have and to hold
As in stories of old,
Cementing their love with a frisson.

Marital Discretion

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Marital Discretion

"Does my bum look big in this dear?"
"Why, yes, it looks enormous,"
Not the phrase she wants to hear,
Unless you fancy homeless.

Reg!

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Reg!

Ladies man, Reg
Had meat and two veg
Which were so monumental in size,
The kilts that he wore
Had to reach to the floor
Or the girls got a nasty surprise.

Pawlitics

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Pawlitics

I have a scruffy mongrel,
I got her for the laughs.
She looks like our Prime Minister,
Without his many gaffes.

She's big on social media,
We're followed everywhere
And all because I bought a dog
With Boris Johnson hair.

The unwashed diva

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The unwashed diva

Her figure was fulsome, nay busty,
Her singing voice, wholesome and lusty
But lack of hygiene
For this opera queen
Left an odour both noisome and musty.

Precisely

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Precisely

Lethologically speaking,
I can't find the word I was seeking
For that guy in the circus
Whose trousers fall down.
I can not remember,
I feel such a clown.

Lethologica:  The inability to recollect the precise word for something

Superfuel

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Superfuel

I've discovered a new superfuel,
no need any more to burn oil,
at a fraction the price of electric
with by-products good for the soil.

Diesel and petrol, forget them,
so too, the wind and the sun,
completely renewable power
and all for the price of a bun.

Say your goodbyes to the frackers
who wanted to ruin our planet,
my compression of air superfuel
eats carbon, it's super-organic.

I don't seek remuneration,
I'm not here to fatten my purse,
This is my gift for all nations,
prototype launch, April first.

Weekend cottages

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Weekend cottages

The bed's too soft or far too hard
And underneath's a playing card
That's full of dust where hoover missed
Or previous house guest in a pissed

Up state has left obnoxious horror
Which can't be left until tomorrow.
The stairs are steep, I hurt my back
With four suitcases and a pack

Of beer, I purchased at The Bridge
But usually the dodgy fridge
Won't work or makes a squealing noise
Incessantly and wakes the boys

So when I want my wicked way
With better half, she's sure to say,
'Forget it dear, the mood has gone,
Let's head for home, put 'kettle on.'
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