sailorman
Well-known member
A Christmas poem for you. IT was the week before Christmas and all
through the kitchen
The MasterChef cooks were all quietly bitchin.’
The female contestants were all barely coping
With plating their dishes while avoiding the groping.
In just 30 seconds their dishes were due.
While the air all around them was turning quite blue
Their knuckles gone white from gripping the counters
While listening to stories of sexual encounters.
From their host, who to liven their culinary tussles
Kept ripping his shirt off to show them his muscles
Then raising their blushes with licentious banter
Like an elderly, oversexed Chippendale Santa
through the kitchen
The MasterChef cooks were all quietly bitchin.’
The female contestants were all barely coping
With plating their dishes while avoiding the groping.
In just 30 seconds their dishes were due.
While the air all around them was turning quite blue
Their knuckles gone white from gripping the counters
While listening to stories of sexual encounters.
From their host, who to liven their culinary tussles
Kept ripping his shirt off to show them his muscles
Then raising their blushes with licentious banter
Like an elderly, oversexed Chippendale Santa
