The Clags Of War

An Epic Poem

Kate, Mike & Rachel

Part 5



Kate:   The dangleberries shone like gold around the royal crown,
Encrusted with red pieces, set amidst a sea of brown,
Their splendidness was super, their amazingness sublime,
Poor Farquhar was so tense he whispered "Yes, they WILL be mine!"

"What was that you said, my dear?" enquired our saucy King,
While wiping jism off his face with some discarded thing,
"Oh nothing sire!" Farquhar replied, "I spoke of your sweet balls,
Now gush me like a tree trunk going down Niagra falls."

Mike:   But before the king's great hose could spirt a single drop
Yet was in that pole position where you've started but can't stop,
Farquhar's dextrous fingers closed around his royal bum crumbs
And with his other hand he clasped the King's resplendent plums.
Then soon enough the time had come, the sluice gate burst wide open
And Farquhar knew he chance was nigh, no more time for gropin'.
A mighty tug was all it took to wrench those clags so fair,
So round and pure and garnished with torn bits of rectal hair.

Kate:   "Ouch!" declared the monarch with his teeth clenched firmly shut,
"That bloody hurt you bastard, you tore hair from out my butt!"
And with a nifty movement he had Farquhar on the floor,
"You dirty using bitch," he cried, "You pond scum sucking whore!

You utter slag from Scunthorpe, you rancid foul old hag,
I'll kick you with my high heels and I'll hit you with my bag,
How dare you steal my clagnuts while you fuck me up the shitter,
Ooh you're a right slapper and by God I'm going to hit yer!"

Rachel:   "My dangleberries" screamed the king, "You thief, you rogue, you brute!
You pretended that you liked me just to get your hands on my loot!"
Farquhar laughed most evily at the mess that his brother was in,
Tied to the bed, with his pants on his head, and cum dripping down off his chin.
So the villain turned and fled the scene, the clagnuts in his hand.
He knew that he had in his grasp the greatest treasures in the land.
Down the castle stairs he sneaked, walking on tip-toes,
Thinking how he'd sell the clagnuts and spend the money on ho's.

 
The Clags Of War
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