Budget 2015

Hello. So, I'm under no illusions that my little blog has a small audience, and that most of the people reading it probably know me personally. That said, the internet is a wonderfully interconnected thing, even for no-name scribblers like me, so I feel this post needs some context for what I like to think of as my international audience. I am both British and living in England, and on Wednesday the Chancellor of the Exchequer (chap who runs the money in our parliament) released his budget, detailing various spending plans and cuts to be enacted. On Wednesday I wrote a little poem in response to that which I'd like to share with you. For the piece to work you need to know a) that the budget has just been released, and b) that the Chancellor's name is George Osborne. The piece is untitled and goes thusly:

Fuck George Osborne.

Fuck him negligently and with no real concern for his orgasm.

Fuck him while making enough noise to seriously strain his relationship with his upstairs neighbour, who has to get up early for work and already struggles to get enough sleep because they have a newborn.

Fuck him with the stereo playing music which does not really create a fuck-appropriate ambience - Chopin's Nocturnes, or didgeridoo music, or something.

Fuck him in such a way that accidentally break several small ornaments of great emotional worth.

Fuck him whilst wearing a cologne which aggravates his hay-fever.

Fuck him and give him a hickey which is clearly visible above the collar on his work shirts.

Fuck him directly after eating a kebab so you get chilli sauce on his favourite pillow case.

Fuck him with the door left open so the cat can come in and stare at him.

Fuck him after agreeing on a safe-word which you know will set off a speech impediment which, while not all that noticeable, he still gets embarrassed about.

Fuck him and, at the point of climax, whisper into his ear the name of his least favourite geography teacher.

Fuck him and afterwards, when he asks if it was good for you too, leave a very slight pause before answering.

Fuck him and then, later when he's just about to fall asleep, sneeze so violently that you bash the back of your head into his nose. Then when you roll over to see if he's alright, wipe it on his shoulder.

Fuck George Osborne in all the above ways, then over the course of a week leave him one hundred and thirty seven voicemail messages tearfully asking why he doesn't want a second date.

One hopes you're well,

Yrs,

ADWoodward