Here sits WOL.
A flimsy papier-mache shell of what it used to be.
Wollies, woollies, woolly wollies!
Come back from whence you came.
Holes have been perforated in its sides
By the constant
Of petty grievances and whinging.
Favours, favours, pink or blue?
I don’t care –
Do you? Ah poo.
Do not misconstrue
My comments, you foo –l.
I disagree with what you said-
“I think your bridesmaids should wear red.
The trend for fuschia is long dead.”
But we cannot put our differences to bed.
So we snipe at you instead.
Ha ha ha...
I might be twenty five-years old
But I cannot handle being told
The joys of platinum versus white gold.
To question me is very bold
Proper conversation, I cannot hold.
...do you think if I translated it into Irish the government would give me a house?
GF, The Legend.
I think it really captures the post-modern angst of WOL life as it is today, yanno...
You like it then?
I certinaly do. Dunno about the free gaff though. You might have to start your own illegal family planning clinic, or Scientology Church or something for that.
The First Church of GraceFace, The Appointed.
Sounds pretty good, to me!
Class Gracie. You have a talent!
we can hand out flyers on the streets of Dublin, and appoint the Spire as our chief meeting-place. I will convince the laypeople that the only way to spiritual fulfillment is to give away all of your worldly possessions into my capable hands... I am only holding on to them for the next life, then when you die you can collect them from me on your way. Like a safety deposit bank, really. Just like TSB, only existential.
I likes the way you think
Ooooh gf what a talent you have.
I take my hat off to you (if i was wearing one!!)