On Sat, 21 Feb 2004 10:23:31 -0600, "Surf McBrowse" <
[email protected]>
wrote:
>
>> >A runner wakes without alarm The sky is dark as morning comes A coffee downed, the shoes are
>> >laced And out the door, a pace near race ....
>>
>> The rain upon his face it stings "I'd better return for my Gore-Tex things" So out the door he
>> tumbles once more And runs 'cross the path of an ageing *****
>>
>> "Young runner, you look so fine and trim For 50 bucks, wanna see what lies within?" "Fcuk off,
>> old *****, for can't you see I'm within three seconds of this routes pb"
>>
>> So on he speeds along trail, over brook, Never pauses from his lofty mission to look At the world
>> and the pathos either side of him He simply glances at his Times GPS with a grin
>>
>> The numbers look good, his hr is just right He feel like an bloody powerful antelope in
>> flight 'Til without warning a small pothole appears And he tumbles to the ground His eyes
>> filled with tears
>>
>> Oh woe is me How can this be For a runner I was born. And to be humbled By a hole Made by a mole
>> Seems rather droll
>>
>> the runner runs no more but crawls along the floor like a snake dying
>>
>
>Damn and blast, a pox on ye hole A thousand curses upon the mole His anger quelled he returns to
>sorrow This run is over at least till morrow
>
>But wait, what's this? Determination rings! Up to his feet quickly springs I can still make my best
>PB And so down the hill he strides with glee
>
>This time he thinks all out he'll go The trees flash by each side the hill Quickly down and past
>the mill A covered bridge in the distance still
>
>Through the bridge and ready to fly "Do or do not, there is no try" Up the trail a runner in sight
>Her legs are long, her bottom tight ...
Wait! This doesn't feel quite right. How can I run, When between my thighs, My throbbing manhood
waters my eyes?.
That fallen nymph plucks at my heart, What this! Her legs! They drift apart? What should I do? Where
should I stare? She lies, legs akimbo, ass in air.
But I am made of sterner stuff, And need not the pleasure of a maidens muff. The ticking clock It
calls me on. I'll tally no more till my battle is won.
Sprint hard for the final 1k, Hr hitting one nine three. Is there any beast on earth, That's as
powerful as me?
Finish glides past on my left, Now my heart slows in my breast. Look down, One hour, twenty seven,
eighteen, Yeah, Running really is obscene.