OK - here's something in Sonnet form

There's absolutely no apparent reason
But I f**king hate the c**ting close season
The papers will be full of stoopid roomers
The forests will be quite devoid of poomers
Imbruglia will simply turn her head away
Not even promising "some other day"
Every weekend there will be incessant rainun'
And we'll never know quite what they do in traynun'
Sweet Jessica won't show her arse to me
And there will be f**k all on the TV
It's in these months that I become confoosed
About what we're sposed to do to stay amoosed
Cos all in all there isn't very much...
I wonder what's become of Daryl Sutch?

Posted By: Poomers Gorn Hoiper, May 16, 16:22:07