My ruby red lips were numb. The wild, fierce, tarra suction from Chuck Corona's kiss was pulling my lips out like rubber. I was up on the tip toes of my sparkling hobnailed boots, holding on to Chuck like an attention seeking leech. I had to breathe through my nose, and as both nostrils were temporaly blocked by road blocks of solidified snotters I was getting it tite. My head was a madly swirling round-a-bout, the blood was pumping in my ears and the ends of my fingers and toes were turning blue. How long could I hold on for? I could knot break away first, or deer Chuck might feel ejected. I mashed my numb rubbery lips against Chuck's buck teeth in an act of wanton passion and fierce womanly emotion. I felt a swoon coming on. I fought the swoon and pressed my protruding bisoms against Chuck's lime green gansey. A blackness came over my eyes, the sounds of tweeting birds came from a far. I was going! sinking into a black whole of passion like the wan at the centre of the milky way. Just when I thought I could take no more, "PLOP!" Chuck broke away and left me with too dangling rubber lips. I gasped in air like a gold fish and expended by lungs with good clean Clougher air. When I had regained my deposure, I kicked a clump of rushes with my hobnailed boot, glanced-demurly up at Chuck and simpered.
Chuck glanced down at me with a face full of passion and acne and growled.
And there we stood, Romeo and Juliet, knee deep in rushes and nettles. A thrush sang, a lark-larked and a pee-wheet wheeted. Chuck and I were one with nature. Just too kuman beings seeking love and affliction, in the short, transitory journey of life.Too lost soles looking for love in a world of debauchery and vile, vile intemperate lewdness, bordering on the last daze of the Roman empire. We were-drunk on love, we did not need the wee fat Baccus boy and his auld bottle of red biddy. We were intoxicated to intoxication by the site of each others alluring visage. Like what is often carved on a tree, Rosie loved Chuck and Chuck loved-Rosie. Chuck bowed, which caused a slight breaking of wind and said. "Wood my lady care too join me for a prambulate round the bog?" I curtised, like a hen laying an egg and said "With the gratest of pleasure, gallant Sir". Arm and arm and hip to hip, Chuck and me sauntered-seductively round the bog. Lost in the beauty and rapture of--Lamore!. As us feet brust through the Summer flora and fauna, clouds of pollen and spores took to the air and glistened in the son like the dust of moon- beams. There was a sense of sensual, sexuality in the barmy Summer air. One wood knot be surprised if a satyr leaped from behind a tree and yelled, "Hi, how about a bit of an auld court?" Rabbits hopped and skipped, as rabbits are want to do. Birds flew low, giving us a tantalising glimpse of their under-carriage. The small white, fluffy clouds, were as little lambs, gambling in a pasture of azure blew. I clung on to Chuck and filled my blocked up hooter with the aroma of old spice and John West tuna chunks. Chuck began to whistle, what a melodic wheep he had. I skipped, I danced, I pranced and leaped-daintly over cow pats which lay in profussion in our path, like a veritable field of land mines. Round and round the bog we went. A mail and a female. A he and a she, as was decreed by auld Noah when his wife cried, "How highs the water Noah?" and auld Noah replied "Too feet high and rising". Round and round the bog we went, in a clock-wise direction. We were in sink with the Universe. We were just too small cogs in the Cosmos and yet--we had our dreams, we had our desires and we had-each other. Nothing momentous or of any grate consequence happened that day. I was kissed like what I've never bean kissed before and strolled, arm and arm with my true love Chuck Corona in a bog outside Clougher. And-yet I shall remember this day. When I am old and feeble and lying in a urine soaked bed popping my clogs. I shall think back to the lovely Summer day when Chuck Corona and me went for a walk in the-bog. From such simple things, are dreams made. So too all young lovers out there I say, make hey while the son shines, for when the rains came and darkness gathers round the door like hungry wolves. You wool regreat the things you did knot do, when it seemed that the son would shine forever!
But let me interact with a word of warning. Do take precautions, I wood suggest a pear of wellingtons, or a good, stout pear of hobnailed boots. You no it makes sense! And you are worth it! if you were knot, no wan wood walk you in the bog in the first plaice!
Ah-Lamore! the scallions in the poundies of life!.