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FIFTY SHADES OF GREY
My missus bought a paperback
In Asda, Saturday.
I had a look inside the bag -
'Twas "Fifty Shades of Grey".
Well I just left her to it, see,
And went off up to bed.
An hour later, she appeared
The sight filled me with dread.
In one hand she held a rope,
The other held a whip.
She brandished them around a bit
And then began to strip.
Well, forty-seven years ago
I might have had a peek.
But Doris has not weathered well -
She's sixty-eight next week.
Watching Doris bump and grind, it
Could not be much grimmer.
And things progressed from bad to worse -
She toppled off her Zimmer.
She struggled back up to her feet
A good half hour later,
Put her teeth back in and said
That I must dominate her.
Now if you knew our Doris, you
Would know just why I cringed.
I'd been two months in traction, 'cos
My hips and knees unhinged.
She stood there nude. All naked, like,
Bent forward quite a bit
And, jumping back in fright, I went
And stood on her left tit.
Doris screamed, her teeth shot out,
My word. What HAD I done?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out
"Step on the OTHER one!"
Well reader, I can tell no more
Of what occurred that day.
Suffice to say, my dark brown hair,
Turned fifty shades of grey.
Black and blue, battered too,
With wanton, wild perversion,
We decided that a night of sin
Was scarce worth such exertion.
Thank Heavens she has binned the book
And peace reigns, like before.
She's head to toe in winceyette
And back to back, we snore.
FIFTY SHADES OF RED
Paul Simon sang there must be fifty
Ways to leave your lover;
But I can vouch there's fifty shades
Of red, that's true, oh brother!
It started when my wife barked, "Hey!
You idle piece of shite,
Get outta bed and paint this room,
And do this by tonight!"
It's not my fault I have no job
And she's the one who works,
But doing nowt exhausts the brain
And sleep's my only perk!
But one fierce glare from Brenda makes
A pitbull quake with fear,
So when she barks, "Jump... now!" I answer,
"Right ...how high, my dear?"
I peered up from the sheets and blinked,
"What colour, hon?" I said.
"Do the woodwork white," she snarled,
"The walls I want done red."
And then, when Brenda went to work,
I crashed out of the bed,
Washed, made breakfast, then went out
To get the pot of red.
In the store a helpful chap
Asked if I needed aid,
"Red paint," I answered. "Sure," he grinned,
"... But we stock fifty shades!"
"There's cherry red and claret red:
Rose-red; tomato red;
A crimson red; harsh mailbox red and..."
"Stop! Enough!" I said.
My head was spinning like a top
And my mind boggling too,
So many hues from which to choose,
Ah, just what does one do?
I cannot get this wrong and chance
Incurring Brenda's rage,
And if I do, I guarantee
I wouldn't reach old age.
"Ah, heck... I'll take the lot!" I sighed,
And loaded my car up,
Then hit the high street, sneezed, and hit
The back end of a truck.
Those fifty pots flew out, exploded,
Burst like broken eggs,
The scene was carnage, bedlam, but...
Did I paint that town red!