going, going... sodded off

there is a story
about a man
this man knew his place
it was behind the tool shed
after fully blown meetings with the brains trust
and chez...

it was only 4 hours until the potentially most important day of his life
and where was he to be found?
sleeping restfully in his own bed?
studying the papers industrially?
carefully working his portfolio into the ground?
making sweet love with the gravy birds?
making up pointless questions?
no... he wasn't
he was sitting on a couch full of elephants
his mind altered
trying to fend off the flying bollocks
what was that noise?
the circuits in his brain fizzled and crackled...
he tried to slow down his thinking
he breathed slowly and dreamt of an orange coloured liquid
eventually the din subsided
leaving in his small dark world
fast foward a few hours
SIMON the REAL ESTATE AGENT is fussing about
his charmingly attractive assistant smiling radiantly
best put on a broad hatted rim
the gabbling unit of 1 was relegated
the crack team humped a car
backwards
SIMON the REAL ESTATE AGENT paced to and FRO
from an equilibrious distance you could have seen a parrot shit on his shoulder
the barriers flung outwards and hit a smoky old man
his cigarette briefly scorched the roof of his mouth
as his eyes popped wide open
as if someone had barred them so
then... nothing happened
ho hum
after a spirited contest between the assembled 2 parties
SIMON the REAL ESTATE AGENT feigned interest amidst his horseshit
and stalked early doors to consult
his return was marked by the irrefutable lingering whiff of ham
the frenzied gnashing of muppet
the bloke under a tree
pushing
shoving
birthing
screeching
contrapting
push the boat as far as the end of the porch
then with a counter-move
as fast as a snail in crutches with termites
as slick as a globule of phlegm
as decisively as syphillis on your bottom
as majestically as a man who smears faeces on his own face
the dubious duo of FRO and MO struck
and it was over
thank fook for that...