Cooking on Daz
Spuds on, oven off.
Daily Gerontius with Olive Spadeface.
Leaves are hard to draw when you’re crap.
Two bags of Walker’s previously salted & some savoury balls of
It’s a rap trap, Baby – & you been tort.
That’s me in the sauna, losing my spaghetti.
Blob and Mutt.
They of the far-famed gut
Son of that sod: Maximillian Swell.
Cast of Godsends, back from the groove.
Loosely hanging, cockless in Dawlish
waiting for a brain. Feeling Vera’s
braiding Himmler’s genes. One. One. One.