THE DIABOLIC FIENDISH PLAN OF BON JOVI

Something has awoken me from my nocturnal slumber. What could it be? A grey lite was forcing itself through the cobwebbed window. By it's meagure illumination I could sea my drawers hanging over a chair and the half full po with a good bead on it. I was lying-gracefully on the broad of my back. A damson in repose, a Venus of the nite. Only darkness has the power to hide my grate beauty from the eyes of men. My sweaty mass of red hare was clinging to my plump. round, fat red face. What had awoken me? My unbound bisoms lay on either side of me, like too dumplins. Why had I awoken? Why was I staring round my maidenely bouid-wah with a look of wonder and surprise on my classical Greek/Roman visage? Then too my horror and indeed-chagrin, I heard the pad of feet coming up the stares. I tried to bound up like a woodland sprite but was unable too. Looking, I could sea that my slender maidenly wrists and my plump water retaining ankles were bound to the bed by ropes. How could this be? Did Chuck Corona, my boyfriend and me indulge in a little bit of M and M last nite. It is but a playful thing Chuck and I do somethymes. Chuck ties me too the bed and pretends too be Jack the Ripper on the trail of female reproductive organs. But like any normal couple who indulge in M and M we have a safety word too keep it from going two far. Deer Chuck knows I have had enough when I gulder out--"CLOUGHER". But wait, Chuck was away in Dublin, who then was creeping up the stares to interfer with my person with fiendish groapings and diabolical futterings? "It's the-RIPPER!" I roared and I began to thrash about like a beached whale. I kicked, I flung, I threshed my slim, girlish 18 stone body from side to side-but all two no avail. The only response from my kicking and flinging was a loud fusillade of wind breaking, akin to a fire fight in down town Basra. Now the handle of my bedroom door was creaking, the fiend was without! The door opened with a creak and a small figure crept into my room. The creature semed deformed. Could it be the hunch-back of Naughty Dame looking for Esmerelda? I broke wind ferociously in the hope that the creature mite think I had a gun secreated in the bed, but still the humped loathsome figure came nearer. His ugly face was contorted and twisted with evil. Then as the dawns grey lite got brighter, I saw too my horror that the intruder was my Sun-Bon Jovi. "Please release me let me go" I yelled "Or by God Boy you'll feel my toe". The wee gulpin never answered me, he ran down the stares and came back with a big jug of water and an auld rag that I clean pee up with. Then the ugly wee brute wearing a pear of tites over his big round head, leant over the bed and hissed. "Where did you hide the packet of wagonwheels?" I glared back definately and roared. "That, you shall never know. Never, Never, NEVER". Bon Jovi giggled and said "Ah so! well let the fun begin". And before I new what was happening, the wee gulpin put the piss saturated rag over my face and began to pour water from the big jug. I couldn't believe it, he who had sprang from my fruitful lions was-water boarding me! The lump of a cub was water-boarding his auld mother. I was choaking, I was drowning. The water went up my hooter and down my throat. I couldn't breathe. The bed creaked and groaned as I thrashed about like a porpose. Then it stopped and Bon Jovi said "Once again I ask you, where did you hide the packet of wagonwheels?" I had too tell him, I couldn't take anymore torture. The cub ran down the stares and I could hear him crunching and gobbling at the wagonwheels. I lay exhausted in the saurated wet bed, then I peed myself-well, what did it matter now? After an hour, the wee brute appeared again, cut the ropes with a penknife and ran off to hide in the eggberries. What spawn of the devil have I given birth too.? A cub who wood water-board his auld mother, will soon be smoking and drinking. My egg must have bean fertlised by a demon from the hot pit of hell. But he can't hide in the eggberries for ever and when he sneaks home, Bon Jovi wool find he has a date with the water barrel outside the house. I too can water-board. I wool hold the wee gulpin in the water barrel until his face turns as blue as a ducks egg. No one water-boards Rosie Ryan and gets away with it. Knot Al-quida, knot George Bush and certaintly knot the lump of a cub kown as, Bon Jovi Ryan. I'm quite looking forward to a bit of torture. I have a mean streak in me. Maybe that's where Bon Jovi gets it from!!

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