There is very little that a man will not do to get into a woman’s pants. Don’t look away. Don’t pretend to be shocked. You all know that it’s true.
In the big scale of deceit I don’t think that a few exaggerations spoken in the name of love should ruffle too many feathers. Lies are just the male equivalent of lipstick. If it gets a bit smudged in the heat of passion then nobody really cares.
My friend Kate spoke on the subject (or perhaps she was speaking of something else … who can tell with women?) and I replied. I stress to you (that do not already know) that Kate is a close relative.
It would be improper for me to have such thoughts about her ….
My mission here will always be
Avoidance of reality
I cheat, I lie, I stand aloof
I fib, I falsify the truth
I make up stuff.
And I invent
The stories that I hope
Prevent
You asking questions
Checking facts
Before allowing
Sordid acts
Upon your person
On your skin
Seeking passage
Deep within
Please don’t forsake me
Don’t reject
The falsehood
That I now project
Forgive my fiction
Let me stay
You are just like me
Anyway
Who could resist
a poem like this
or the man who wrote it
(I daren’t quote it)
with such finesse
and I only guess
at such experience forsooth
who knows the fib who needs the truth
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ah your identity is now public Mr Foley!
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So this is what you’ve been doing instead of NaNoing?
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I could tell you what I’ve actually been doing but you would assume (quite reasonably) that I was fibbing.
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Now I’m curious.
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