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Post by spamheid on Dec 9, 2010 18:29:16 GMT
When Mendelssohn wrote Fingal's Cave He got a surprise, when a wave Soaked all of the hair On his arse, which was bare And caused him to rant and to rave. So why was his arse in this state? I have this wee tale to narrate The sea made him ill And caused him to fill His trousers, in short, defecate. But the sea water cleaned up his bum And soon he was feeling less glum And added some more To his Hebridean score A touch of the gong and the drum.
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Post by cardboardlover on Dec 10, 2010 22:31:42 GMT
my uncle hates my obsession with cardboard but little does he know that you can purchase cardboard coffins now so when he is croaking it in hospital i am going to bring one to his bedside.
your poem reminded me of this in a roundabout sort of way as my uncle once went to the hebrides but they were closed for the day.
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Post by Barry Hodges on Dec 17, 2010 0:56:19 GMT
I will never be able to listen to Mendelssohn again without thinking of you. Thanks a ton. Och fucking aye.
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Post by Pastor Peter Grovell, D.D. on Oct 11, 2017 17:04:54 GMT
This is all sinful filth and you will all burn in hell.
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