This Australian Clitoris Is Tired of You Dainty Lot
G’day, you cunts! The way everyone pussyfoots around these days, fuck me dead! What’s a Sheila to do? Everyday I see you boys tiptoeing about and, bloody hell, I’ve had enough. This clitoris likes it direct. So let’s have a go, alright?
A thing that drives me fucking batty is a Bruce being so indirect. Like does the fucking cat have your tongue or what, mate? Be a man and be upfront about your intentions. Whatever comes of your pitch, no worries mate. She’ll be right. I mean, spit it out and I’ll give you a fair go.
I love me some real games, like Ring Around My Rosie. I love A Pocket’s Full. Peek-a-boo is child’s play, so go on and have a poke. Quit playing games with me parts! I fucking hate blokes who play mind games. The mind is an erogenous zone, the greatest by far but I mean of all the fucks I’m looking for, the mindfuck doesn’t rate. But if you don’t get to it, onya bike. Tell your story walkin’!
From where I sit on my perch, you’re a beauty of a bastard but I’m bored shitless waiting for you to finish your walkabout. You’re leaving me as dry as a nun’s nasty. Stop beating ‘round the bush and let’s go down under. Call me a hypocrite for hiding under my hood but read my lips, right? There’s no puss for the wuss, so just man up or I’ll give you the pink slip.
