The Crown.
My family already have their examples of Margaretisms - and have done since Ma'am Darling was published. Actually they did before that too.
As I watched the sX scenes in Call Me By Your Name tonight I was struck by an overwhelming need to be sh*gged senseless by one of the greatest d*cks ever placed on this planet...
The owner is something you wouldn't admit to wiping your a*se with. But it's very filling. If my brother was straight his memory of this would bother me more...
But he has told all (to the degree of second cousins at least) my experience with fat d*ck, where I lay wearing only Versace sunglasses and smoking from an ivory cigarette holder, as a rather younger woman bobbled about like a jelly on a plate to Fontella Bass. He played the organ in a church.
Rather marvellous I must say. He was an offensive little sh*t really. He told me I, as a traitorous part Jewess, should burn eternally in a lake of fire with Palestinian children. I think I said something - if biblical fairy stories help you through you life, knock yourself out.
He was easily swelled and had a breathtaking heartbeat pulsation on the quarter end of a splitting rod of steel. The only reason it's still attached to his body after his political and racial rudeness.
My brother loves that story - and I agree that on reflection, it is rather Margaret.
It's hard to describe. You know when you haven't had roast chicken and thyme crisps for ages, and suddenly you bite into a handful of them. That was him. I'd probably be able to watch him beheaded without losing my appetite.
Yeah - series 3. Margaretology and Cri de Coeur - fabulous.
Hitskin.com
