How can it be that we can
Say so much without words?
Bless you and bless me
Bless the bees
And the birds

I’ve got to be near you
Every night, every day
I couldn’t be happy
Any other way

It must be love, love, love
It must be love, love, love
Nothing more, nothing less
Love is the best

Bugger your overpriced roses, your rip-off meals at flash drug laundering establishments fronting as restaurants, your champers, your choccies made by the union-busting child-slavers Nestle, and your cards manufactured from deforested Amazon trees by Yankee shysters turning over $2 billion a year by pulling every trick, treat and scam in the book.

It’s all just a craven capitalist con, let me give you the drum, for all you really need to celebrate the execution of a 3rd century wog priest turned saint is a sheila with a bush that that she’s prepared to give a bloody good clip, a heart she offers you with her machete laid safely on the ground and out of reach, and a multiple long roots up against the fence.

Yep sportsfans, find a woman like that and it’ll be Valentines Day 365 days a year, and 366 every Olympus. Just ask Archie, I’ll tell ya!

And I’ll show you what the Bead-Twirler gave me for Valentine’s Day.

A quick Parental Guidance Warning though – pictures of shaved bush’s, unbridled love and multiple long roots are probably not ideal viewing for the littlies, especially if you want them to grow up to be capitalist Merchant Bankers, or not be practicing their future trade in the dunny late at night anyway.


How bloody bonza is this hey? What more could a bloke from the Bung want?

And if the Twirler’s bush and her heart are just a little bit wonky, hey, whose isn’t? Ya need water to stay alive, but have ya ever seen a straight river? And anyway, those long, multiple roots make up for it a thousandfold, don’t you worry about that.

But after a sidus horribilus on the punt, one so bad that the knockers from the mainstream media got word of it and have written a front page headline about in the sadly mistaken hope that it would get me locked out of the house for the night (no-one told ’em about the slaying I have the bookies mid-week, loose lips and all that, ha ha), what did I give the twirler to celebrate our Amore you ask?

Why, this cracker of a story of course!

Yeah, yeah, you can keep as straight a face as you like lover girls. but your black eyes give you away, and I know you’re jealous.

Kissy, kissy but don’t just don’t get get hissy ladies.

A bloody Happy Valentines Day to all.