Dearest P sweet P,
O my I'd not realized that when they said pole dancing they weren't referring to the north pole sighted somewhere east of London and west of Santa Claus. Ah, alas and such, an American fleemale cannot ever face a pole without feeling prancy and piquancy, as you well know now that you've been pranced and piquanced.
Why is it, though, dearest P, that one cannot (well, I for one, could not) get a thorough full mouth kiss of goodbye from you? Is it because I'd not yet extricated m'sel' from the pole, or that Robin had not yet fully extricated that sodding barmaid from his kiltie? Yeeks. One must be especially careful with kilts as their tartans clearly identify one's munificent whatevers for dynastic centuries of thingies kept behind/beneath kilthoodies and such and anon.
Well, and now we along with the Royal MP's police, currently celebrate that lovely young man called Tony Bush Blair's kinda reverse coup d'etat, most especially on the heels of the heel Blunkett or is it PokeIt---I'm just unsure as to those British-sounding surnamey blokes.
We raging rodents, dormice, bears, wabbits and pole-ish dancers tend to ignore political massages whenever and wherever we can which is why we then wish to plant full-mouth kisses upon the lips of the grandson of Patrick McManus who never once not for one millisecond fooled us that he indeed WAS the actual aged elder zimmerframing pension-passing roue and rogue, the Sweet Grand P-ness.
That would be you, my dear darling,
'til soon, then,
and do scratch VB ferociously for me
full mouth kissly yours,
Omnia
> From: Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]>
> Date: 2005/11/11 Fri AM 03:05:39 EST
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: poem visit to Raynes Park- for esp Omnia and Robin
>
> VISIT
>
> sir and madam!
> what a visit!
> but it's okay
> I'm not now
> permanently barred
> after money
> lot's of money
> changed hands
> from 'The Tavern'
> although
> certain persons
> in a kilt
> flashing what
> was underneath
> however magnificent
> blasting bagpipes
> declaiming Burns
> in broad Glaswegian
> carelessly casting
> Mac Ewan cans
> so indescriminately
> did somewhat
> cause disquiet
> even a tad upset
> amongst aged
> dozing locals
> of Raynes Park
> and Omnia
> my petallist petal
> my sweetest sweet
> my sugarest plum
> actually that pub
> is not normally
> a topless venue
> however hot the
> central heating
> and dancing
> on the table
> skittling beermats
> glasses scratching
> polished surfaces
> is not normally
> encouraged
> especially at
> eleven ten
> in the morning
> and actually
> my poppet
> that was not a
> pole dancing pole
> so skillfully used
> but an easy mistake
> for an American
> well Virginian
> but what memories
> of being so visited
> so poetryetcetted
>
>
> pmcmanus n723
>
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