Monologue Girl

Monologue Girl (A Tribute to Billy Bennett)

It was Christmas day in the whorehouse
And the place was (mostly) tidy.
The prossies were eating chocolate eggs. No…
I'm a liar… that was Good Friday.

The madam and all her girls were there
Around the parlour table
Waiting for someone to distract them
With a possibly dirty fable.

Then up stood a buxom old working girl,
Her eye makeup badly askew
Her tits were too large, her bottom too big,
And her hair was the wrong shade of blue.

Her red eyes were flashing with anger;
She threw down her handbag and cursed:
'How dare you wish me a happy new year?
'You don't know my history, you flirts!'

'Thirty-nine years past (as the crows flies)
'I got my first fuck in this place.
'The punter was quite good looking, I thought –
'Till he came all over my face.'

'And then I went in for the bondage;
'Made good cash, till I started to age.
'Now I only do blowjobs and get all trussed up
'Like a bird in a gilded cage.'

'So, thank you. (I really mean "Fuck you!") –
'You just take these curses from me –
'May your climaxes end in a whimper
'When he's got you over his knee.'

'May your poor tired feet, earnt out on the street,
'Never again stop from hurting.
'May your condoms all burst when you feel at your worst
'And his big rampant knob he's inserting.'

'You're the girls who gave men furtive pleasure
'By fabricating your screams.
'Now you want me to tell you I'm happy.
'Well, I was once – in my dreams.'

'So now that I've told you my story, Madam,
'I'll bore you no more with my past.
'As as for your old Christmas pudding
'You can stick it… right up your . . .

Oh dear, I've forgotten the rest.