DESPERATE MEASURES
In order to try to tug my flagging weblog out of the basement (it's not even making the ground floor of the Salon Hot 100 any more), I'm going to devote tomorrow's postings entirely to sex. Links to the most sophisticated, the most specialised, the most perverse of sites will be made available. I shall display also my Visa card details so that readers will be able to register, pay for & enjoy the dark fruits thereof.
I shall publish also extracts from my own erotic diaries. These legendary documents will reveal at last my labyrinthine sexual connections with members of the British Royal Family. You will learn precisely whereabouts on Prince Charles' lithe, tanned body is situated that fabled third nipple. I shall disclose exactly which sections of Boccaccio's Decameron & Dante's Inferno Sophie Windsor has tattooed on her right inner thigh. I shall divulge the identity of the Premier Division soccer star whose name Princess Anne calls out at her moment of consummation. I shall clarify finally what actually transpired the night that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II & I shared a small & squalid room in the Crooked Member Motel in Dorchester.
Finally, high quality photographs of acts of bestiality & depravity beyond even your imaginings will be posted. These will be accompanied by the cell phone numbers & email addresses of the sheep & cattle involved.
So, my devoted readers, be there or be distinctly square. What price filchyboy or The Reverse Cowgirl or Pornographer's Choice? This will be the real deal. I'd be grateful, then, if the two of you would sort of put the word about a bit…
Right, that's enough for tonight, Mr Jones. Nurse, the screens...
12:33:34 AM 
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