Stuck at Gatwick for the next two hours
Sitting alone waiting for my flight
Here are my observations in the format of a poem
The man with the screaming kids
His wife with uneven patchy fake tan
Their suitcase is oft used
Somebody get that kid a bueno
Patrons queue for beer at sunrise
Prosecco for the tarts
Full English breakfast for the full English man
Extra sausages will make his whole holiday
Busty teenagers excited for Ibiza
Virginity intact for now
Cocktails and romance awaits
Broken friendships and gossip too
The lazy fat man uses the Airport golf cart
Whisks him to his flight
Walking would help lose that belly
He will start, as usual on January 1st
Obnoxious American tourists walk fast
To a future full of entitlement
Will they ever be self aware
Will they ever truly care?
Nando's opens all night
Chicken never tasted so good
Is that a footballer eating breakfast
No, it's just a guy with panache
That was my poem. It's called 'terminal illness'
Fin
Airport terminals
posted on 18/7/17
Robb' stuck in Gatwick
He's going to Spain
Once a here like Rooney
He's now on the wain
Two hours of travel
He's up in the air
And while he's offline
He can't reply. Unfair!
But when he arrives
Shower gel in hand
He'll log on to JA
'For a bit' understand.
Whilst girlfriend is washing
And cleaning her crack
He'll carry on saying
LVG deserved the sack.
So there ends my poem
About the Aussie called Robb
Who I think is alright
But to others a .......
Happy Holiday Robb
posted on 18/7/17
Jesus wept
posted on 18/7/17
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posted on 18/7/17
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posted on 18/7/17
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posted on 18/7/17
Boy Juan matador really didn't get what cosmic was doing did he?
posted on 18/7/17
comment by Admin1 (U1)
posted 10 hours, 9 minutes ago
I've started writing my own airport poem:
She packed my bags last night preflight zero hour nine am...
It's a start.
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Sublime. I think more folks should use art to express their airport experience.
Oh mr customs man
Why always me?
It was only one tab,
Not a bottle of LSD
Is it my cheeky smile
Or rolling manic eyes?
You always wink
As you touch my thighs
So now my clothes
Lie in a pile in floor
Man with rubber gloves
Walks through the door
I'm not down
For this sort of depravity
You always smile
As greased hand enters cavity
It's just not fair
Why to you search me?
In to sheite in a pan
And out comes 2 kg
Oh who me.
Sadistic mr customs man.
--by shin
posted on 18/7/17
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posted on 18/7/17
comment by Dave NotSo (U11711)
posted 7 minutes ago
That, Baz esq., is a Cholmondeley Award winning poem right there if ever I've seen one!
If that doesn't get you a share of the £8000 then nothing will.
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Can't take credit dave old buddy, it's the 'ballad of shin'
It's what he wrote after going on holiday.
posted on 18/7/17
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