There was an angry shoebox,
Who mumbled all day long.
He’d whine about the weather,
And ask where all the red telephone boxes had gone.
The shoebox, he joined UKIP
To get the phonebooths back,
And everyone accused him,
Of being a dumbass racist hack.
And they were right, I guess.
(note: all abbreviations mentioned in this poem are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to any abbreviation, living or dead, is purely coincidental)
Once upon a time, I was really really masculine. No, seriously, ask anyone that I went to school with. I was the hunkiest of the testosteroniest of the jockiest of the Men.
Many of you may remember Men Behaving Badly.
**Tony:** *I’m sorry, look what happens when you live with a woman? She’ll fill the place with cushions.*
**Gary:** *Cushions, yeah.*
That’s always stuck in my mind, for some reason. And it comes back particularly hard on occasions.
