I suppose you could say I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I notice it’s all steamed up. I wipe it off with my finger, And see, on my face, Three spots, all in a line. I look at them, lean in close to the mirror to see better, And wonder…
An old plane would be nice, the engines could be turned into useful sheds, Or guest bedrooms, How about a retired Melbourne tram, or two, they’d be just a wonderful place to be, Or a double-decker bus, you could move your house around, one day living in the city and the next by a pristine…
The child threw a rock at the bird, The bird fell out of the tree, It hit an old lady on the head and she fell dead, Momentarily distracting a man crossing the road, Who was hit by a bus, Which caused the bus driver to have a heart attack, And drive into a petrol…
I love him, I want to snuggle up to him, And rub his chin, his little wet kitty nose And say “who’s a good boy…whoooos’s a gooooood boy…” His fur so soft and warm, His adorable snorty purr, And when he frolics in the garden, It’s a cuteness overload. LB the kitten, LB the cat,…