Mum's life is grey and monotonous, interrupted by brief, fleeting moments of levity,
For instance, when a well-hung bloke fucks her up the anal cavity.
The first thought had by most victims of dad's flashing by the canal towpath,
Was simply, "Wow, no girth."
Dad's captain,
Of Team Thin.
It seems unfair,
that there's really nothing there.
No one wants to join dad "horizontal jogging",
So he's loudly sentencing his own prick to a public flogging.
(Mum? Bogging.)
Mum's system for categorising bogs-pricks:
Thix,
Extra-thix,
Mega-thix,
Paramedix.
Your mum: queen of horror-slots,
Your dad: Loads of cock-blood-clots.
Dad's personal willy hygienist,
Is on record saying "this man has the filthiest penis."
Dad suffers from camel toe,
Overflow.
