Story Time
Hello children, welcome to story time. My name is Mary Juicy-Flange-Arris and I’ve come to read you a tale to help you on your way to sleepy-bo-nighty-nights-landy-wandy. So, if you’re all tucked up suggly-wuggly-goo? I’ll begin.
360 screaming and shouting. Brothers and sisters loving each other, The doctor ripped it out then and there The old woman’s house made the simply ecstatic They took over a hundred maltreated and unfed The problem was solved with economical ways, The youngest bairnes she saved for the best, No meals to cook except for her own,
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do.
Having so many kids isn’t so grand,
Even if you live in fairy land.
You may think it’s a land made of milk and honey
But it’s no fucking laugh if you’ve got no money.
Because 360 boys and girls
Had turned the woman’s life into a semi-third world.
360 crying and pouting.
360 wanting and needing.
360 fighting and bleeding.
360 no please and no thanks.
120 experiencing puberty angst.
120 sexually awakened,
Family morals quickly forsaken.
Producing more children unbeknownst to their mother.
Unwanted babies are left at her door,
She has so many she won’t notice one more.
One day she woke and came to her senses.
No more games, no more pretences.
Enough was enough, she had no doubt
It was about time she had her womb taken out.
And warned her of side affects; severe facial hair.
Social Services was the next call to make,
To try to find how many kids they would take.
They came the next day to look over her shoe
(Which, as a matter of fact, was the place they sent her to).
They enjoy their work and are never more happy
Than to remove from its home a babe still in nappies.
As they took out the children she kept in the attic.
And the ones from the wardrobe, roughly a dozen.
She showed them the five that lived under the oven.
The nine under the bed she thought were asleep and dreaming
Were in fact dead, decomposing and steaming.
She thought it was strange, as she fought back false tears,
That they hadn’t grown much in the last 15 years.
But left the nine green ones under the bed.
“It’s not our department,” the said feigning their sorrow.
“Leave them outside for the dustmen tomorrow.”
A few less to feed, but still far too many.
More cutbacks were needed to save up the pennies.
The next problem was cooking tonight’s tea;
A quick, simple meal for 223.
Just feed 150 with baby Bolognese.
The following day, another decision made
And a family trip to the shopping arcade.
200 gold pieces and a dozen black pearls;
A reasonable price for white, virgin girls.
The boys went to work to lessen her loss,
She sent them to walk the streets of Kings Cross.
She sold them to Boots for cosmetic tests.
The army bought some for a sack of loose change
To test out there bullets on their firing range.
The old woman went home, happy at last
Safe in the knowledge her parenting was past.
\no money worries. She was sitting pretty
With the regular income from her boys in the City.
A new life to lead in a spanking new home.
Plenty of boyfriends for her bits of rough,
Plenty of sex and no up the duff.
No children, no worries, no stress and no trouble,
No problems at all – except for the stubble.
The moral is simple and easy to find;
Having children never pays, but can be payment in kind.