"W thought we smelt the afterglow
of sexual desire.
We snorted more and...Blimey! Cor!
'Tis Drumpf's coiffure, afire --
which odor's not unlike some hot
ignited whitewall tire."
Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro... -
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