The Cunterbary Tales

Ladies and Gents! My most esteemed Peers! Duchesses, Arch deacons,
Bohemians and Queers!
Whether debutante, dilettante, nun, monk or squire, Whether princess or pauper or body for hire.

To all persons present, who dwell under heaven, You! Marquesses of Mayfair and Fishwives of Devon!

I have gathered you here to act as my witness To a most gruesome and murky business.

But please! Before I embark on my tawdry tale, I would ask that each one of you would avail yourselves of a spacious fluids receptacle, Lest there be an unsanit'ry spectacle,

And promptly purge your mortal souls, empty your bladders and truss up your holes. For even Regina, our Queen, most demure, would have trouble holding on to her pelvic floor.

And so for this lewd and irreverent rhyme,
We must all travel back through the annals of time, Back, back we go through the history book pages, Right to the depths of the dark middle ages.

To a vista of cowpats and quaint country spires, Nestled in England's most backwards of Shires, Here we shall meet, for the very first time, The protagonist of this foul pantomime.

Here she comes now, all covered in mud, smelling of cheeses,
and horses and blood
To be sure by our standards she's certainly ripe, And could do with a bath a bloody good wipe,

But underneath all the mud, grot and shit, You can still see this maiden's uncommonly fit.

A cummerly, buxsome and loverly wench, despite her rancid, culin'ry stench.

She is the crown jewel of her Gloucestershire village, One that many have tried but failed to pillage Due to her fathers vigilant eye,

keeping watch from the trough of their family pigsty.

But sadly for Phoebe, for that is her name,
maids rarely survive this predatory game
And as she goes clomping through the boggy town square, She's about to be caught in a sexual snare.

As fate has it, that morning, in a neighboring county, Lord Pillock had set off in search of such bounty. Intent on asserting his lordly birthright,
On the next poor doomed soul who entered his sight.

As Phoebe bent over to reach down the well, Lord P's eyes alit on this shapely town belle.

' Great Gizzards' He Cried, his hands to his belt, 'Well there's a cloaca that needs to be felt'

'Prepare me for mounting and plug up my nose, Unsheath me from my metal hose.

I shall tup this wench like a fresh summer yew, Even if she's caked in poo.'

And deftly and with practiced speed,
He leapt from atop his noble steed, And charged across the busy square,
To where poor Phoebs stood as yet unaware

Of the real and imminent danger

Presented by this randy stranger.
And in one single bound and a flurry of dirt, He reached for the hem of her crusty, brown skirt.

But before he could spread his gentrified oats, Something fell from her petticoats.

It landed with an almighty thud,
And splashed Pillocks face with a puddle of mud!

'What the Blazes' he gruffed as he peered up her smock But what awaited him there was an almighty shock.

As soon as the hem was an inch from the ground, There came an ominous rumbling sound.
That sent all the townsfolk about them stumbling, For out from her nethers something came tumbling,

It unfurled its way across the floor,
rolled out the square and passed the church door,

Across meadows and fields,the whole county through, and continued beyond the human view!

Now I don't need tell you this unusual ado, Led to a great deal of hulabaloo.
And once at last the screaming abaited, These bumpkins became quite agitated.

'Tis a snake' One dolt cried, 'Though it's made out of pork, I'll snare it on my rusty fork
It clearly is an edible dish
Why else would it reek so pungent of fish?'

The hungry crowds mouths began to water,
at the thought of poor Phoebes imminent slaughter.

'Out Sinners!'
Proclaimed the drunken welsh friar 'You'll be damned to burn in eternal hell fire''

'Can't you see this is the Armageddon! This will decide who gets in to heaven.'

This cut across the great unwashed babble And caught the attention of the ravenous rabble. For whilst not known for his sobriety
This priest was revered for his blood thirsty piety.

'It's clear its best for societies sake'
we expediently burn this foul witch at the stake' And so they carried poor Phoebs to the pire, which had permanent residence next to the spire.

They lit the match, they watched it blaze, Each one consumed by a sanguineous daze. But just before she went up in smoke, our unhappy protagonist finally spoke'

'Kind sirs I quite understand your religious alarm, But before you all cause me great bodily harm, Know these meat parcels I've kept under wraps are nothing more scary than my labial flaps.

They may be a little unusually long, And have a certain aquatic pong.
But this is the gammon that our Lord awarded

so how can you say it is sinful and sordid?

'And besides what kind of blaspheming heretic would call into question our fathers aesthetic?' And I'd like to see the magnificent minge That doesn't make its proprietor cringe'

And besides worrying about the state of our crannies, You Men have something much weirder than fannies. A dribbly cyclops all covered in veins
And yet not one woman ever once complains,

So before you set fire to my lengthy labia, I'd take a quick look at your own genitalia'

The crowd was silenced. They gazed to the ground. All of them too scared to utter a sound.
For they knew that what lay in base of their knicker, Would draw the attention of the murderous vicar.

And so that is how it came to be,
That our loverley Phoebe at length was set free. For the vicar in question had also gone mute,

Fretting about his own mangled fruit.

And as for that lusty Lothario Lord P,
He was captured on horseback whilst trying to flee. And as the mobs blood lust had need to be sated. He was unceremoniously castrated.

So there you have it. Poor Phe's ugly truth. However revolting and grim and uncouth.
But at leasst the townsfolk did no longer abhore her. For her excessive labia majora.

But there's a grave lesson here for us to glean. Regarding the treatment of our underspleen. Our labium deserve our utmost affection rather than some ghastly offstead inspection.

It is a unique majestic beef flower.
The source of all your womanly power. So before you start plotting your lips demise. Regard them with much more generous eyes.

So please whether your flaps look like roadkill or clam Still love and respect your labial ham.