It was large, it was round
It was environmentally sound
because it didn't move very fast.
It moseyed over without hope
as the ball flew to the rope
We figured it may as well park on the grass.
If it discovered a touch more speed
The jeering and whistling we wouldn't need
We might give it some respect at last.
But it preferred to stay in its pose
while its owner did, like a bimbo, doze
so now I must mock you, Shane Watson's arse.
10 thoughts on this post:
I bloody knew that Watto's arse would be the first thing you'd tell us about!!! :P
Good to see you've survived it, was starting to get worried because of your silence :)
BTW you smell of Legsmith (cookies and milk). Nice.
Cheers,
Wes
► Germany's First One-Day Kit
Wonderful! I meant the poem.
Aarghhh..not an ode about Twatto's arse! I feel for you Sid, it must have been one of the most horrible things to write about. :P
Didn't you get a chance to come close enough and give him a good whack with a bat there?
Lol...
How did you find the inspiration to write that ode, Sid? Beats me completely!
That's his face no? How can you tell the difference? Tell, come on now.
Well, it was right in front of me a great deal of the day so I couldn't avoid it. He was also being a right lazy arse, moving as slow as humanly possible so something had to be said.
Stani, behave.
...or? Now my mind's wandering at what kind of punishment you'll be handing (no pun) out.
hhhhmmmm ... blogger being a bastard ...
Stani, haven't decided on exact punishment, but there's a fair chance it will involve Shane Watson arse.
Or face.
Either way ...
I do something wrong and Shane Watson gets punished? Sounds good to me :)
I'm off to womanise, take drugs, go clubbing and p*ss myself then...just don't tell God.
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