April 15, 2011

‘A wee Bit Cramped’ @ Lazy Lohan’s in Edinburgh

Filed under: SHANES SEMEN, treading a fine line — lucygraywoolff @ 7:24 pm

A wee bit cramped

@ Lazy Lohan’s

And so says

The 4 feet 4 inch

Dublin tramp

On google.

he who lays

Rack and ruin.

Makes a change!

He’s usually found


This time

Writing of sensitive data.

Which he’d previous taped

After mind raped!

Pro rata.

At a pinch,

At a cinch.

This wee menstrual cramp,

Who likes to stamp

His little Napoleon mark


M**rh**se Mengele

Gassed Practice,



Is ne’er

A practice manager.

Only part time staff.

Medical receptionists

Double up as a nurse.

Nurses double

As troubled

Internet 9 month trained





Its now [1992] defunct



He claims he’s a tutor

Like at Edinburgh uni

Aye right

My ass.

The lying shite.

Desperate to be recognised.

The undersized

Mal nourished

Badly nurtured

Sink estate Dubliner.

He, who owns

To more psychological scarring




The fact.

The wee stank

Does wank

Off at every pair of tits

That wobble in.

The walking wee sin

Spends all morning at Gregg’s,

For his meat-filled sub.

Nae wonder he cannae

See his wully.

Fat rounded


Pity his psyche was not so grounded.

Just his luck

He’s cross patch ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ the dwarf.

Tells the women

Not to wear heels,

Cos they then steals

A march on him.

Dwarfs him!

Get it!

He leaves them [interminable] waiting,

Anxious, nervous,




The little fuck

Who’s not worth a fuck.

Gets his kicks


Them squirming.


Present and hiding

Biding in his cubby hole

The one who drags his arsehole

One foot off the ground.

Emotions sure

Begorrah and bejabers

Run high

When one is worried.

Which usual means when HE

Gets his sweaty mitts

On them they’re ready to tell the truth.

The stoopid oirish tit!

Where is he?

Crushed [nondescript] clothes

And brothel creepers

Boys size seven.

(Saves him a fortune

The balloon).

Psst (he actually does think

This minscule walking stink

The ladies are fascinated by his throat

The randy little goat

Thinks they are turned on by he

He stands on a high chair

In his Gorgie tenemment practising Freud)

So he covers it with a highnecked teeshirt,

In case they jump his bones.

The bodies (he’s disposed of) groans

From the graves.

They are demolishing this crummy place

Pity they miss out this germ ridden ‘surgery’

Where one is lucky to emerge alive.

Where one’s as black as the earl of hell’s waistcoat’

The whole lot

Should be run aground, rounded up and shot.

And yet one notices they

Themselves would not go there

To be treated.

Rather slit their wrists

(How many attempts for you shaney bhoy?)

Oh, deep joy

You missed the artery.



Eh, shane!

Can YOU ever tell the truth?

Do you KNOW what truth is?

‘Small’ wonder the oirish

Gets such a tinker name.

Fie for shame

On you.


Walking sad sack.


Are blue

Aren’t you?

And the quacks are just walking tits.

‘Doc ‘ been and gone and dunn


Cut of a wummin’s leg!

The WRONG one


He can’t even give *blood tests


And when required

The ass.

He’s so mired

In candy pink ties

And pharmaceutical freebies

New cars!

+++++weeks trades holidays

At his time share.

But @  his lair

At mmg

You see

Ignorance is bliss.

He’s hit and miss.

(*the lady required 5 pints of blood immediately)

As to buddy budd.

He’s fascinated with women’s fudd

‘but its only my ingrown toenail’!

And as to quack shitdozy,

He’s laid back and cozy.

Sat on his black ass

Smoking [purely medicinal] grass

To get thru the ‘long’ day.

He cannae


Wi the dope


Tightening the noose on his rope!

The Heroin freaks.

The alcoholic


The ones wi the dose

Of the clap.

His trap

Is firmly closed in case he catches it.

So him and his semblance

Of badly trained geeks,

They escape to self locking doors.

Pace the pock marked floors,

Publicly discussing a case,

(wi windaes


Drinking coffee


Wi Oirish whiskey.

As to Tr**s*re

He’s too busy trying to measure

The size of vaginas.

Baldy pate glowing.


With a knowing


Shitdozy joins he,

Two shiny lamplights, two bods.

(Oh wait a baby died fae


I couldnae

Be bothered getting myself or the group

To see to it!

We live in suburbia.

Miles away


Sink estate scum.

And the walking bum

Where the shebeens and rum

Flows free.

(Looked at yourselves in the mirror of late)

PS: Did you know ‘doctors’ – even ill trained ones, such as the above,

For the love

Of God

Cannot be done,

[Not even ‘dunn’]

With negligence

AND causing premature death


They are covered



By Death

By the GMC.

They own to no conscience.

Swan off to the Seychelles

Dole out anti-d’s

If you so plez

And send the WOMEN

To a 4 foot 4 inches walking disease

Who rapes in every which way but loose

…Then the lies,

And boy they are whoppers.

Real heart stoppers

Start flowing

Fae the menstrual curse.

Big whoppers

To the SPSO!

To the courts!

To the polis!

Enough to drown the wee man and t’others

Who joined in the lies.

They disguise

Their negligence

(Hire a practice manager in late october 2006)

No pro-forma forms,

NO confidentiality clauses,

No counselling literature,

No CORE…double barrelled clark

He’s too busy

Theyre too illiterate

So sayeth the Dubliner wee tit!

What a lark.

Capturing his individual photographs

To place onto a shared landscape

To impress

To ape

The baps of gutterworth,


He’d wank

Their shanks

Them off

Just to gain a little recognition,


And acclaim.

And of course spanking

The spandex

Rent boys up causewayside.

*This will be my death knell.


I say.

At least it will come out

At a shout

How warped

This place is

And the dysfunctional semen

Who frequent it

And that is NOT the patients

Of this gawd-damn awful quacks

Who knew he was lying

Eh shitdozy and been and gone and dunn it)

So they are shying

From the truth.

He left me with HIS childhood trauma

His psychological shite

His burning issues

And tissues

Of lies

The wee mental fright

Who was raped by his da

As his ma

Looked on

I saw it all.

His mental maul

I wish he was dead

I curse the day the gorgie dalry (ite) was born

(june 11 1966

bet he carries the three 6’s under his ronin keating hair too)

and I know his address too)

Yes folks the polis and / or bent, warped lawyers gave a sex offender a

Victim’s address.

God bless

You guess


The wee fright

Followed me you see

Looking for ‘no more broken willies’

The sillies

I’ll spank it out of them.

As to vagismus

I’ll sort it out.

He’s a pornographer without a computer

The flesh and blood in front of he

You see

he gets his sick


bet he carries the three 6’s too.


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