DJROSSIROSS

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
It doesn't have to, it just does.
The lazy dog sleeps like a log,
The flies about him buzz.
The sleek black cat sits on the mat,
It's waiting to be fed.
It isn't frightened of the dog;
It thinks the doggy's dead.
The dog dreams of a cat and fox
Sniffing at his food.
Both are wearing bright blue socks.
He thinks they're very rude.
The fox lands on the sleek black cat,
The cat jumps up right off the mat,
The sleeping dog is very fat,
The fox growls, the cat has s**t.
Dog wakes up, sees cat and fox
And is surprised to see no socks.
Dog bites foxy in the head,
Cat runs off, foxy dead.
Dog gets bitten by foxy fleas
And proceeds to catch rabies.
Poor old doggy, mad then dead.
Sleek black cat steals doggy's bed.
You come on like a dream, peaches and cream, lips that taste of woodbine. Your crimplene, your nylon and your brine.
As I gaze lingeringly at the prone forms layed out before me, all scrubbed hard and alabaster cold clean prepared, as I pull on the protective sterile elasticated powder lined gloves, as I peruse my instruments, delicate slivers of stainless serated steel, slicing sawing snapping scraping implements, as I watch the mist of my breath and feel its dampness on my mask, I think of her. Her, impure, sullied, tainted. Her youth and innocence, her beauty and promise a cynical lie. And I make my first incision, pushing hard with all my might so that I might open up the thoracic cavity revealing all those delicate tell-tale sweetmeets.
I weigh the liver and remember the first time we kissed.
I examine the contents of the stomach, the large intestine, small intestine, the colon and dwell on the first night we spent together - her skin and her tenderness.
Then I am interrupted in my work by the bell. It is time for my lunch. I will work through it. I pause in my examination, walk over to the large brushed steel refrigerator and remove my sandwiches from their sojourn by a pair of eyeballs - witness to a strangling. Today, I know, I have salad rolls; uninspiring, but you're limited to your choice of filling if you're a vegan.
I love you Anne Robinson, and you Vannessa Feldz. I love you, Anne Widdecombe. All of you women, I want to explore your crenellations, brush my fingertips over your leathery creases, smell the dust and urine smell of your age and experience.
I want to dissect you all to reveal the most amazing secrets of your seemingly oh so mundane lives, chuckle at your anatomical anecdotes.
I want to inspect your puss.
I have a piece of cress caught in my top front teeth, I use the scalpel to pick it out and realise I have compromised the forensic examination. It is not the end of the world, I can enter the accident in my notes, but it's yet another lapse. There have been quite a few lately.
After logging my error I finish my lunch and continue my examination.
I love you Margeret.

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