Why do men have those?

It's true when they say what a difference a single day can make

We had the phone cut off last week but tonight we're eating steak

The arse is hanging out of my jeans and my goldfish, Bobby, drowned

But I found a tenner in these old jeans and a pound upon the ground

So up the road and into town I wandered all alone

Some nice, thick steaks from the butcher's shop and I treated the dogs to a bone

A bag of spuds to go with the meat and my pocket again held nowt

Then slowly home with a smile on my face to find I'd locked myself out

I sat on the wall at the front of my house awaiting Patty's return

I filled my pipe and settled back as the baccy began to burn

I took a puff and looked around both down and up the street

And at my watch and at my phone, then down at my aching feet

Tatty and scuffed with a hole in the sole that my big toe was peeping through

Laces frayed and mismatched socks and I'd stepped in some dog shit too

On hands and knees by a patch of grass picking out shit with a stick

Effing and Jeffing and cursing my luck and feeling a bit of a dick

A shadow fell across the ground where I crouched and muttered my mutter

Then a voice from behind that startled me, "Get out of the fucking gutter"

There she stood above me, made up like a whore and fake tanned

A fag dangling from the side of her gob and a half eaten pie in her hand

She coughed and burped and giggled, then asked me for a light

And sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose and said "Can you smell shite?"

I held aloft my shitty stick and wafted it around

"I use it to beat the ladies off" I explained, but she just frowned

A brief exchange on the pavement by the road on which we live

Revealed she'd not got her key either, though only I was a "div"

Around the back and through the gate, we stood in our own back yard

And spied the window high above that we'd stupidly left ajar

I stripped to the waist and shimmied on up the drain pipe that led to the roof

A task I'd last attempted many years back in my youth

Back when it was muscle, not flubber, that made my manly chest ripple

I'd almost got myself half in when I trapped my fucking nipple

She laughed so much she started to choke upon her fag

Spluttering pie crust and streaming eyes and rifling through her bag

She wanted her phone to take a pic of my dangling, shit soiled feet

To use along with some childish abuse and share with the world in a Tweet

The laughter stopped quite suddenly, replaced with a nervous giggle

"Any chance of a spot of help" I called, continuing to wriggle

No answer from the Dickfingered one, just deathly quiet below

"Hello" I called, "are you still there?" expecting the answer "no"

I craned my neck and looked around

To where she stood upon the ground

Holding aloft a bunch of keys

And saying "Oh look, I did have these"

A prick, a dick, a knob and much more

I called her as she went and unlocked the door

She called back to me "If you want help, Twohats...

...you'd better be nice and stop being a twat"

Now, I'm a nice guy, of that I am sure

But I've a stronger trait that comes to the fore

See that streak in my beard that you all think is grey

Is a streak of pure stubborn that I'm sure one day

Will lead to my untimely death

When I've cut off my own nose to save my own breath

"Bollocks to her" I thought and, lo

I closed my eyes and just let go

She said it was quite comical, the look upon my face

When I'd slipped from sight beneath the sill as downward I did race

She'd only just exploded in through the flimsy door

Then had to turn and run back down the bloody stairs once more

"Are you okay?" She asked of me, lay crumpled by the wall

"Absolutely splendid, the gravel broke my fall"

"So why are you crying?" She asked, now looming over me

"The rest of my fucking nipple's up there and I think I did a wee"

Bruised and bashed and feeling blue

And forgetting about the state of my shoe

I winced and limped in through the door

And traipsed across the kitchen floor

Took my seat upon the couch

Uttering noises like "oof" and "ouch"

Then from the kitchen an almighty din

"There's shit on your shoe and you've trodden it in!"

That day's now over, I'm happy to say

Though the bruise on my arse hasn't yet gone away

And my nipple is still unusually long

My own fault for thinking that I was King Kong

If I learnt one lesson it has to be that

Climbing through windows is best left for a cat

It wasn't a day I'd want to live twice

But the important thing is that our steaks were dead nice

J2H.