Duelling Cunts

The Tutor Sings:
Hurricane ALT F Girl, fucked upon the hill,
Hurricane ALT F Girl, sounding very shrill.
Is she worthy? I don't think so.
Is she thinking? Yes, very slow.
Whatcha doing, ALT F Girl, you cunt?
Hurricane  ALT F Girl, rims a dappled mare,
Hurricane ALT F Girl, semen in her hair.
Is she oozing? Yes, I think so.
Is she horrid? Yes, ever so.
Whatcha doing ALT F Girl, you cunt?
Hurricane  ALT F Gir-rl
Hurricane  ALT F Gir-rl
Hurricane  ALT F Girl
Boop Boop.

The Boop Boop made it kismet doncha think?

I responded:
Mares are female horses, idiot.

The Tutor rejoined with:
Female horses over the age of three actually - unless they are thoroughbreds - then it's four.
And here I thought the restorative act of rimming was, anatomically speaking, gender neutral?
But I defer to you in matters concerning all things equine.
I's such a silly filly.
"Is she thinking? Yes, very slow."
Neigh, whinny and clippity-clop indeed

I further stated:
Your next line involves semen, does it not? Sorry for thinking you had flow, Tennyson.

The Tutor dug his grave deeper with:
Semen, like our love, comes in spurts. It doesn't flow; nor should my poetry.

Someone had blunder'd:
Yours not to make reply,
Yours not to reason why,
Yours but to rim and die:
Unto the sphincter of death
Oozed the dull ALT-F.

Okay!
Okay!
You're right.  In the original tune those two lines are connected in content.
I'll change the lyric to:

"Hurricane ALT F Girl, rims a dappled hare,"

Better now?

I pronounced the coup de grâce:
Yes. I love bunnies!

The Tutored pouted:
I hate you!

I wallowed in victory:
Peel me a grape!


Apologies to Donovan for soiling his masterpiece, "Jennifer Juniper".

Confessional

The Tutor:  My experience with NYC is not that expansive I’m afraid – mostly visits in an employment capacity to that architectural eyesore on the corner of First and East 42nd.  Leslie, the dear woman, has always been my chaperon whenever the two of us find ourselves concurrently in NYC, and by extension, Turtle Bay.  It was she who introduced me to the night life and the various venues where one is less, or more, likely to survive the evening’s festivities.  We Canadians are a frightfully cautious lot and Leslie, braving as she does the hurricanes, sinkholes and murder rate in New Orleans – her home port – and as an Honourary Masshole, is just the ticket.  And she is wicked Ginger arm candy.

My first date with the lovely and talented VD, coincidentally also in NYC, initially transpired much as any date might.  Though it was not really a date, we were, and remain, more ‘Partners in Crime’ than anything else.  At the restaurant, she proceeded to order everything on the menu - I was paying you see.  A tremendous amount of food, and wine arrived at our table.  I was expecting an equine feed bag to arrive as well, at some point.  She consumed all of the food and wine – including half the free bread sticks!  This five-foot-nothing Asian woman-child consumed more at that one sitting than I normally consume in three days!  I could not help but remark, “Goodness, Dr. M., do you eat like this at home?”  To which she responded, between mouthfuls, “No, but then they don’t expect to fuck me after dinner”.

I mean, how could you not just love to bits a woman like that?

She left with her bodyguard in Daddy’s Limo.  I took the subway."

Me:  "That's not how I remember it."

The Tutor:  "How so?"

Me:  "You stuck me with the bill."

The Tutor:  "Right, I remember that now."