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Thursday, 20 November 2008
Home arrow The Archive arrow Limericks arrow A Curate of Eltham
A Curate of Eltham Print E-mail
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There was a young curate of Eltham
Who wouldn’t fuck girls, but he felt ‘em.
     In lanes he would linger
     And play at stink-finger,
And scream with delight when he smelt ‘em.
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Maybe there is no actual place called hell. Maybe hell is just having to listen to our grandparents breathe through their noses when they're eating sandwiches.

-- Jim Carey
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