The Preacher’s Whore

December 6, 2012 Leave a comment

Three Act Screenplay written for a school assignment. Please click on the PDF link to access it.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, dead or undead, is purely coincidental.

The Preacher’s Whore

The Sarong-Party Virgin

Good to see,
Nice to touch.
Once fucked,
Considered slut.

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The Constipatient’s Best Friend

Beer is dear,
When your rear does not tear.

Reflections on Horniness

Perhaps it’s time that I should try,
To hang my wet dream out to dry.

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So Long, Stacie-chan

December 6, 2010 Leave a comment

Your bones have been blown,
my furry friend,
by the four winds.
And you’ll never hear the seething rain
grind your teeth into leaves.

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The Little Girl with a Cunt

A prick is a prick. A cunt is a cunt. – Flo

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl with a Cunt.
‘I am proud of you’, said the Cunt to the little girl.
‘I am not, of you’, moped the little girl.
‘You are the best little girl to have ever possessed me’, persisted the Cunt.
‘And you are the worst curse to have ever plagued me’, the belligerent little girl sobbed.

The little girl knew that in time, when the seasons have turned, all owners of cunts would have a gift bestowed upon them- the Tits.
The little girl also knew what she really wanted was a prick, and she knew it better than anyone.
One day, the little girl decided to see the Wise-Woman to get rid of her Cunt. She had to see the Wise-Woman before the seasons turned.

‘Who’s there?’, came a hoarse but kindly voice.
‘It’s only me Wise-Woman, the Little Girl with a Cunt’
‘Come in’, laughed the Wise-Woman.

And so, the little girl came to tell all about her Cunt. She told the Wise-Woman of her days in frocks, picking daisies by the woods. She told the Wise-Woman of endless days in nursery rooms of pastel bouquets and plastic dolls. She told the Wise-Woman of the Little Boy with a Prick, whom she would like to be, running around in britches. Most of all, she told the Wise-Woman about the Tits, which will be her burden when the seasons have turned.

‘Tell me, Wise-Woman, what shall i do?’, cried the little girl.
‘Listen,child’, the Wise-Woman spoke,’listen very carefully. To own a prick, child, one must listen very carefully to what one’s Cunt say. Remember child, the Cunts holds the secret to the prick. Do what it asks, and the prick shall be yours’

‘Really? Even if it tells me to brush my hair and dress my dolls and gather more daisies and oh bother, cross my legs?!’ the little girl was near to tears.
‘Yes, child. Listen to it and you will be rewarded. Now hurry along, before the seasons turn’ , consoled the Wise-Woman.
The eyes of the Wise-Woman twinkled mischievously as the little girl went away happily.

All day and all week, the little girl listened to her Cunt obediently. One minute was ‘Prop your head up, little girl’ and the next was ‘Pick one of those lovely roses for me, won’t you?’
‘Why, of course, what a brilliant idea!’, the little girl replied blithely, knowing she would have a prick as soon as the seasons have turned.

All through the month thereafter, the little girl was enjoying what she did so much that her eyes were gay and cheeks scarlet with merriment.

One day, the Cunt stopped talking.
‘Dear Cunt, you haven’t spoken to me since morning. Tell me, what bothers you, Cunt?’
Still, there was silence.
The little girl looked down at the front of her pretty frock : in place of her usual billowing frock front was a pair of Tits!
Suddenly, she realized the Wise-Woman’s little trick, and what a silly little girl she had been!
‘Hello, lovely!’ chirped the Tits.
She was so amused by them that she fell down giggling, unaware of the Not-So-Little-Boy-with-the-Prick, behind the bushes, whom she would soon come to own, in the sweet and sensuous scent of hibiscus.

Once i had a cunt,
but i thought i wanted none.
I’d rather have some fun
And run round in the sun!
I was afraid of tits,
thought they gave me fits!
I’d rather have a prick,
so life could be a kick!

Then, i grew some Tits.
Then, you see, it fits!?
Now it’s such an easy trick,
To get almost any Prick!

Still, the worst story since Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist.
Semi-autobiographical, days when i was fifteen.
I had really wanted a prick, tho it wasn’t to roll in mud with soccer mats.(Lard of me could only melt in the sun)
I had wanted a prick, so my mum wouldn’t stop me from meeting other pricks from
I’m glad it didn’t happen tho, i don’t really want to get pricked even tho i wasn’t much to prick at
I love you, Cunt!


January 10, 2010 Leave a comment

I know, I know, who i am!
A very morbid Ogden Nash! – Flo

Cupid de Lock, O Prithee!
Send’st thou this heart of me?
To my dreary Lunar love-
Eclipsed by the lamp of dusk above.

Upon the molten brims of Fie;
He reigns in raptured saturnine
Wretched prince of the moon-dazed realm-
By wane; He seek’st my cheeks sanguine!

Crestfallen; O he long’st for me-
In a lovesick soliloquy
Till hail of his kingdom sallow him
A green and yellow melancholy

The daisies of the galaxies
Burn softly in their star-laced dreams
Alas, I plead that thou be swift-
For dawn reaps the death of this solstice

The hungry Sun shalt bring forth the morrow;
Melt’st thy arrow, devour’st his marrow-
As cygnets on thy Sweetheart’s bow
Hold the bend of his sorrow.


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