Cows say ‘I moo’ in pet wedding

Original article

They met as they ate in the meadow –
they both shared a fondness for cud.
His moo made her rumen
do backflips; she knew then
that one day she’d bring him to stud.

Her beefcake was meaty and horny;
his pizzle just couldn’t be pinker.
His bullish endeavours
enchanted the heifer:
she fell for him hoof, line and sinker.

And now they’ll be wed in the meadow;
The cows have their vows right down pat.
The promise they’ll make
has plenty at steak
but the pastoral look after that.

The groom has his gold wedding nose-ring,
the bride chews her clover bouquet.
A marvellous feast’s
prepared – or at least,
the farmer’s bought plenty of hay.

So ring out the cow-bells this morning,
for ruminant romance is true.
The cow congregation
are lowing laudation;
the lovers are saying “I moo”.

Knut, the baby polar bear at Berlin zoo

Original article

Knut! Knut! Oh sweet Knut!
Rejected-at-the teat Knut!
Since Goldilocks first broke her chair,
a porridge-eating baby bear
can brighten up the dullest brute
our sunshine, solar bear Knut.

By plane and train, in ships and blimps
admirers flock to catch a glimpse:
what unbeliever could refute
the pulling power of cute Knut?

The fluffy face, the perky ears
can nullify the post-war years.
We’ll shelve our xenophobic peeves:
the sauerkraut-scoffing sunshade thieves
enthusiasts of regulation
have gained a new-found reputation;
for who can’t hold a squidgy spot
for soft Knut’s compatriots?
Oh wise Knut, it seems that you’re
the nation’s best ambassador.

Much-loved Knut, that you might be
like Amundsen’s loyal cub, Marie!
(Admittedly he killed his chum,
but don’t feel that should make you glum.)
For you, Knut, weren’t made that way:
you transcend species-based cliché.
Your smudge-black nose, your chubby paws:
what harm, Knut, could those things cause?

If you, Knut, were human, you
would put the seat down in the loo
and, if your paws could work the phone,
you’d call your friends who’re home alone.
I pray, one day, that all my dates can
share Knut’s consideration.

Woman Sneaks Into Prison for Sex

Original article

It’s grim when you’re a prisoner
with no way to get laid.
So one guy summonsed Tiffany
to bring illegal aid.

She posed as his attorney, and
they sent her to his cell.
His penal code was winding up;
the plan was going well.

And soon the fake solicitor
was taking down her briefs,
as plaintiffly he pleaded for
ancillary relief.

She took down his particulars,
demure in her demeanour,
remanded him in custody
and fondled his subpoenas.

But prison guards were watching and
they started to exclaim, as
he told her to bind over, prior
to entering her chambers.

It came as quite a shock to them;
it put them in a spin.
They’re used to inmates breaking out
not bed-mates breaking in.

They served an intervention: “Cease!”
they cried, “and please desist.”
Suspending panted sentences,
the love-case was dismissed.

If the sweethearts only realised that
their motions were observed!
His testors were intestate for
his discharge was unserved.

Alas, their lustful judgement day
will never come to pass.
They’ve charged her with soliciting;
she’s locked behind the Bars.

Thong fetish dog eats knickers

Original article

Some doggies like chewing on choc-drops,
or beefsteaks, or biscuits, or bones.
But Deefer the mastiff’s
begun to amass diff-
erent deviant tastes of his own.

While others are chowing down Chappie,
he’s lapping up lace lingerie.
He loves to gulp gusset
but doesn’t discuss it
for sometimes there’s nothing to say.

He knows he should stick to organics;
he knows it’s unhealthy and wrong
to want to ingest a
pale pink polyester
bikini or frilly-trimmed thong.

He won’t eat a jockstrap or Y-front:
it’s panties that make him rejoice.
(A bit of a pun, this,
but gentlemen’s undies
are generally boxer dogs’ choice.)

The pant-popping pup’s in a pickle
the knickers have knackered his guts,
for knicker elastic
(whilst tasting fantastic)
is not all that healthy for mutts.

So poor pooch is going cold turkey:
the laundry basket’s run dry.
He’s back biting bones as
his well-meaning owners
have cut off his knicker supply.

Thong fetish dog eats knickers

Original article

Some doggies like chewing on choc-drops,
or beefsteaks, or biscuits, or bones.
But Deefer the mastiff’s
begun to amass diff-
erent deviant tastes of his own.

While others are chowing down Chappie,
he’s lapping up lace lingerie.
He loves to gulp gusset
but doesn’t discuss it
for sometimes there’s nothing to say.

He knows he should stick to organics;
he knows it’s unhealthy and wrong
to want to ingest a
pale pink polyester
bikini or frilly-trimmed thong.

He won’t eat a jockstrap or Y-front:
it’s panties that make him rejoice.
(A bit of a pun, this,
but gentlemen’s undies
are generally boxer dogs’ choice.)

The pant-popping pup’s in a pickle
the knickers have knackered his guts,
for knicker elastic
(whilst tasting fantastic)
is not all that healthy for mutts.

So poor pooch is going cold turkey:
the laundry basket’s run dry.
He’s back biting bones as
his well-meaning owners
have cut off his knicker supply.

Robotic birds scare ‘fat’ pigeons

Original article

Attack from aloft! With a payload of poo,
they strafe over Liverpool dock.
The feathered invaders are mounting a coup;
the pigeons are strutting amok.

Their droppings are plopping all over the town;
there are no guano-free lanes.
The dastardly doves have been letting us down;
our clean, cultured rep has been stained.

They’re pushy, they’re scruffy, they’re often obese
(just like Liverpudlians aren’t).
We need some investment to reclaim our streets,
so here’s how we’re spending our grant.

Meet Robop, the scourge of the feathery flock,
a raptoresque robot whose cry
and mechanical flaps are created to shock
and scare the squabs back to the sky.

Elite engineers can eliminate pests
with robops on bus-stops and stations.
They’re hoping the peregrine cyborgs arrest
the pigeonly peregrinations.

Let’s pray birds of prey can get rid of the quists;
let’s hope we succeed with plan A.
For Columbid massacre’s next on the list
to carry a pigeon away.

Fruity cocktails count as health food, study finds

Original article

Nutritionists’ every suggestion,
to me, is just out of the question.
“Eat cabbage,” “Eat sprouts,”
“If in doubt, go without:
it’s good for your heart and digestion.”

But I don’t want parsnips or peas.
I crave chips and chocolate and cheese.
And no water – just wine,
or a beer would be fine
or a jug of Long Island iced teas.

But look! Alcohol can enhance the
protection from fruit against cancer.
Don’t tell me it’s quackery;
strawberry daiquiri:
that’s the nutritionists’ answer.

This plan, I’m supporting with ardour:
there’s gallons of rum in the larder:
a spirit-filled spence;
from this moment hence,
my pina will all be colada.

Sex theme park to open in London

Original article

When you go to the fair,
and there’s penises there,
that’s Amora.
When the park’s seven zones
have erogenous tones,
that’s Amora.

Touch that thing
on its ding-a-ling:
soon you’ll be the king
of exciting a fella.
Let this great
theme park educate
people how to mate:
it will be a best-seller.

When it’s like Disneyworld
but with more naked girls,
that’s Amora,
where there’s Sexual Ed
to teach girls to give head and make love.
When you wish you could flirt
but you fear you’re not dirty, Signora –
don’t lose heart, you’re a tart;
it’s a learnable art – that’s Amora!

Man with shoe fetish walks free

Original article

Good gracious, ladies – have you seen what’s happened on the news?
A gentleman in London’s been purloining ladies’ shoes.
He says that it’s a fetish, not a hobby he would choose;
without his strange stiletto stash, he’d suffer from the blues.
To help his high-heeled habit, he has hatched a hateful ruse:
he shuffles up behind a girl and grabs the Jimmy Choos
from off her feet – it’s dangerous, but what’s he got to lose?
He’s swift and gentle; victims don’t get so much as a bruise,
but still, I think we’d all agree it’s likely to bemuse.
The culprit’s sorry – he had not intended to abuse
the girls, nor give them nightmares, shocks, nor even the boo-hoos.
So treat him with compassion; the poor man’s paid his dues.
Just keep your fingers crossed he finds a less destructive muse.