Part I
Young Arthur was walking along, Ffingering idly his dong, When a voice says: "Hey ducky, On this day you're lucky," And he sees this strange bird in the pond.
She then sees his eighteen inch cock, And thereupon ceases to mock. "That tool that you grew, Would split me in two. Go off and fuck that old rock."
Of course this old witch was insane, But Artie had great lack of brain, So he runs at the stone, And buries his bone, And don't even notice the pain.
Already we're up to verse four, And I've barely opened the door, On this ludicrous saga... I'll get me a lager, Before I attempt any more.
So the bitch in the pool gives a shout, "You pillock! Now pull the thing out." So he pulled from the boulder His choat; Right," he told her, "Now tell me what's this all about."
"It seems, punk, that you may go far. There's a bull in that field over thar, Slap him with your plonker, If him you can conquer, We'll call your dick Ox-killer-bar."
Well that's the first pun out the way. There'll be many more, I dare say. But folks, you'll need stamina, You'll be granddads and grandimas Ere I'm finished, with hair silver grey.
"Now go to Iran or Iraq. Can't find it? Then look at the faq. Out there in the East, Find a humpy-backed beast," Says the harlot, " And bring the thing baq."
("We know what comes next," erm has sighed.) Says the crone: "On your horse you must ride, Bring that beastie back here, Then his flesh you must sear, Then the place may be called Camelfried."
But of course, as you know, he forgot, And he boiled that thing in a pot, This he served to his mates, While they drank booze from crates, And named the locale Camelbroiled.
But we've jumped ahead of ourselves... Says the biddy, "You can't gert a train, ya Will have to go charter a plane, ya Must go to Heathrow, There'll be one there I know, That'll take you to Mesopotamia."
"But don't go by Virgin, you'll pay, But those things never go all the way, Experience they lack, If you want to get back, You'd better fly TWA."
(OK, no jokes about TWA tea.)
So he gets him a flight to Baghdad, Gets the hots for those Arab chicks bad, When he gets to the palace He's a very sore phallus, 'Cos many a fine Galahad.
In the foyer a dervish is whirlin', And he finds an old conjurer, Merlin, Who says "I've a camel, He's one of the famil- y, only a hundred pounds sterlin'".
So it's done, merl fulfils his commission, And specifies just one condition, "Now art, we'll be pals, And we'll get lots of gals, And teach 'em the art of coition."
And so back to Wessex they go, With slave girls and camel in tow. And there make a feast, Of that poor humpty beast, At a wonderful party they throw.
At a circular barn they were able To set up an old trestle table. Each day at sundown, They all might be found, Those great nights at the round stable.
There's more of this rubbish to follow, But not until after tomorrow, 'Cos erm's lying there, With her legs in the air, And I'm going to have a good wallow.
Tiddy. [To be continued. I'm Gawaine now, but I'll be back.]
Note for beknighted foreigners: Heathrow = London's biggest airport. Virgin = airline, owned by Richard Branson, failed balloonist.
Part II
For those who avoided part 1: Young Arthur out having fun, Meets a tart in a lake, Who tells him he'll make
It big, from the size of his gun.
He'll reach an exalted position, With the help of a failed stage magician, There'll be crumpet galore, With whom he will score, And it seems it will come to fruition.
Now read on, if you can stand it...
They rampaged around their fair land, Art with pork sword in his hand, Slaying all knaves and varlets, Screwing virgins and harlots, Merlin making full use of his wand.
"Go North," cries Art, "Find a new trail!" So they all hop aboard Virgin Rail, But of course the train's crap, And a coupling does snap, And they're dumped in the suburb of Sale.
Now why, in this wierd pantomime, PickSale for the scene of the crime? OK I'll explain: Blame Branson's crap train, And the desperate search for a rhyme.
On foot then go Art and his men. At Shrewsbury they meet this wench, gwen, Art whimpers and drools As she licks at his tool, "More, baby, go do that again."
Now here, I think, credit is due. I've managed so far to eschew, Those Bugs Bunny quips, 'Bout Sir Loin and Sir Kit, Sir Pent and the waiter Sir Vue.
In Gwen's love nest Art'swholly embroiled, And he brings her back to Camelbroiled, (sorry, you'll have to see pt 1) and so with that whore For a fortnight or more, In the arms of each other they're coiled.
Disaster will come now, ere long, Art finds he's got pains in his schlong. Merlin's looked, sniffed and coughed, "It's that chinese you boffed, Your majesty's got Hong Kong dong."
Now Merl's diagnosis, I fear Was wrong, it was our Guinevere, Who'd been sleeping around With the sailors in town, And given our Art gonorrhoea.
So Merlin now gave him the chop, Sliced off arthur's most vital prop, And Art cannot look As Merl goes to the brook Preparing therein it to drop.
And now with a piteous wail, Comes the creature that started our tale, That lorelei shakes Off the slime from the lakeMuch older, and horribly frail.
"OK," says old Merl, "You're the boss." Her Reply is "Gee, thanks, you old tosser." She grabs that fine prize, Stuffs it up 'tween her thighs, And sinks 'neath the waves. That's no loss-er.
So those legends about old King Art, Are lies, and not worth one loud fart. 'Cos old Ogg was there, When he still had some hair, And this story came right from the heart... or the bowels. (more likely."
Tiddy. The above was written before the rail crash involving a Virgin express, in Cheshire, in which county is Sale. I do not intend to mock this incident, just Virgin trains generally.
Last updated: Fri, 17 Sep 1999.