A poem about eggs by DG, aged 38 and a few months, soon the be 39, my god where did the years go? Eh? Eh?
Eggs are brilliant
Eggs are great
A fried egg butty
Is what I ate.

I took a bite
Into the yolk
And then it dribbled
All down my lovely clean shirt that I only put on an hour ago, I mean, I've got far better things to do than wash and iron shirts having only worn them for an hour.

Fucking eggs. Bastards. It's all the chicken's fault you know.

And Asda's, for selling eggs in the first place.

Cunts.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 8 Oct 2009, 19:29, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

More effort next time please.
*still has the hump from being called a poof earlier*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 19:37, Reply)