There is no fool like an old fool when it comes to romance;
if he gets a glance from an attractive female half his age he
thinks he's in there with more than a ghost of a chance.
But what has he got to offer? A life time's experiences is no
defence. An abundance of pounds and pence will make more
sense to recompense the object of his desire for the smell of
liniment and Listerine mouthwash throughout the house.
And if he was like a well known dead celebrity comic, getting
her to fellate him after he'd doused his genitalia in eau de cologne.
I'm the King of loneliness on my lonely throne; I've just spent
my XL number of Valentine's Days unloved and alone.
But am I bothered? Not now that I know there's a world of
opportunities out there for the highest bidder. Now all I
have to do is win a serious amount of dosh so I can go after
the type of posh totty that I've always yearned for. One with a
brain like Sylvia Path and the libido of Katy Price. Together
we could have nice times and a laugh afterwards. (Mind you,
Sylvia was never known for her sense of humour was she?
Unless you regard her biting into Ted Hughes cheek till it bled
as funny? Fellatio's definitely off the menu.)
Now all I need is a psychic sidekick on side to give me next week's
winning numbers for the National Lotto.
