It is with immeasurable regret I am commanded to relay the latest ‘dispatches’ from Mr. MWS, why fortuna has seen me fit for this burden is beyond a mystery - I can only apologize…He really won’t fuck off.
Time has whisked stronzetto into quite a froth since he sank is snaggled tooth into the world of politics. The adhesive idiot appears positively convinced a rousing anthem is all that stands between himself and cock-pit of power. Having sat through the first round of auditions I’m flaccid with hope.
Enough of the man mule! Matters of real consequence are to hand! Yesterday through thunderous clouds and downtrodden pavements Mr. MWS trudged woefully to the post office. The queue was intolerable and reeked of compliance, failure and last nights pot noodle. The be-roped queue maze appeared like little gallows designed to perhaps offer some option of dignity to the most delicate Mr.MWS
…But wait!, peering through the gaggle of frustration could salvation be to hand?
And low, the little beige trouser Elvis rises in arrogant glory as the back doors of the mind garden creek near open to tempt in a technicolour vista of passion and pleasure.
Post office girl has returned! It has long been known that ‘lust trumps woe’, in fact I may offer this tit bit to Stronzettos campaign…? But I digress, post office girl is back when all hope was lost and now she stands at the threshold of the mind garden…She must be entranced at once! Perhaps she could be wooed by the ethereal flute or enticed by the sacred purple cape prance? No, No this just won’t do. Studying her pert physique and satanic styling it becomes clear Post office girl requires something entirely more acrobatic and spiritual. Perhaps a game of honeyed twister? NO SIR! Acroyoga! Mr. MWS recently created a unique and masterful art form that tallies fitness with tantra with an ungodly dose of lycra - Indeed Post office girl will contort as we cavort!
Yes, my golden panted playmate Mr. MWS will put you in a spin! The queue dissolves completely in the face of such reverie, Mr. MWS has transcended and with him ‘P.O.G’…
Furious panting and straining in harmony, we are tied in glorious knots! I can feel her breath on my shin her starboard teat sits firmly on my thigh…Indeed tupping time is near! But what is this searing pain? What Awww, 'You’re next love’
shatters the blossoming moment of the mind - What the deuce? Mr. MWS is being rammed by a spinsters shopping cart.
Punctured, forlorn and flaccid once more reality has again foiled Mr. MWS… Second class signed for please