And we surfaced in the Valley Of The Vajazzles!
Yes, we in Essexland, on the Alcatrazian rock known as Canvey Island!
Well, we were, but were are currently traversing towards the Essex Triangle... which is not a euphemism (although Vag/Flange Creak almost certainly is!). It's that mystical fugue of incorporeal displacement where several places merge and overlay each other. Namely Southend-On-Sea, Westcliff-On-Sea & Leigh-On-Sea.
Leigh-On-Sea, Xym?
Leigh-On-Sea!
And did we see any Master Butchers?
Did we buggery fuck as like!
Xym's 5'6 and 100 stones, the undisputed King of the Tums, no alias (unlike Klaus Barbie - the unseen butcher in Leigh-On-Sea), the one and once - Hold The Front Page...
[EDIT: SOME TIME LATER THE FOLLOWING DAY:]
Upon returning to Norwich, further lyrical amendments required thusly:
The King of the Goths got himself a Star Trek Enterprize Box Set for pleasuring the missus on Viagra and Amphetemine. Xym never got to second base thanks to that Ryan wotsisface, Xym's 5'6 and 100 stones, the undisputed King of the Tums, no alias (unlike Klaus Barbie - the unseen butcher in Leigh-On-Sea), the one and once - Hold The Front Page... Fat Xym's got somewhere to stay, where there's guests and there's boyfriends, at the Hepworth Hotel, making Xym feel quite awkward, where Xym lives life in style, confined to the sofa, where he wakes up at seven (no-one else till 11), Xym's fat and unhealthy, and John is possessed, Jo's toilets ain't healthy (John's not toilet trained), we just chuckle & smile, and laugh like some madmen, 2 born again Gothboys, here comes Xym The Fat Man. or something.
