Saturday: For Better or Verse?

Good Morning Nice Peeps


I think it's about time we had some culture on here.
Anyone 'up' for poetry?

The following masterpiece was sent to me by Terry, and I must say,
what a way to start the day!

(From Terry)

When I was just a young man - about fifty years ago, I lived for a while in  England. In my travels around the Sceptred Isle I was fortunate enough
to attend a rather unique event.
This is the record of that event - and perhaps could be considered for future gatherings of the B2PC crowd, both men and women  - they can compete against each other.

I'll tell you a story that’s certain to  please

Of  a grand  farting contest at Shitter on Tees

Where  all the best arses paraded in fields

To take part in the contest for various  shields.



Some cocked   their   arses  to fart up  the  scale

To strive   for a  cup or  barrel   of ale

Whilst those whose  arses were biggest and   strongest

Competed   in  contests  for  loudest and longest.



This Easter evening had drawn a big crowd

And betting was even on Mrs McLeod

‘Twas said in the papers – the sporting editions

That this lady’s arse was in perfect condition.



Now old Mrs Jones had a perfect backside

With a bunch of red hairs and a wart on each side

She fancied her chance of winning with ease

Having trained on a diet of cabbage and peas.



Old Mrs Potluck was backed for a place

She'd often been placed in   the deepest disgrace

Having farted  in church and drowned the great organ

And gassed the old verger – poor Marmaduke Morgan.



Young Mrs. Bugle, midst  rounds of applause

Promptly proceeded to pull down her drawers

For  though she'd no chance in this farting display

She'd  the prettiest arse that they'd seen on that day.



The vicar arrived and ascended the stand

And proceeded to tell this remarkable band

That the contest was as shown on the bills

And the use was taboo of injection and pills.



The entrants lined up for the signal to start

And, winning the toss, Mrs Jones too first fart.

The crowd were astonished in silence and wonder

The BBC issued warnings of lightning and thunder.



Came Mrs Potluck who advanced  to  the front

And started by doing a wonderful stunt,

With wide parted cheeks and tightly clenched hands.

She blew off the roof of the sixpenny stands.



But Mrs McLeod thought nothing of this

She'd had some weak tea and was all wind and piss

With hands on her hips and legs stretched out wide

She unluckily shat and was disqualified.



Now young Mrs Bugle was next to appear

She turned to the crowd who raised a great cheer

For though she’d no chance for the contest at all

She knew some great tunes and farted them all.



With her hands on her hips she farted alone

And the crowd was amazed at the sweetness of tone

The judge agreed without bias or pause

First prize – Mrs Bugle and pull up your drawers.



She advanced to the rostrum with a maidenly gait

And took from the  vicar a set of gold plate

Then turned to the crowd who had started to sing

And farted the first verse of ‘God Save The King’

All the best

Terry