Memories of Frankfurt

People tell me Frankfurt in a fascinating city and it's true,
Provided you enjoy a nice fat German sausage in your mouth.
Talking of which, I am reminded of some of Frankfurt's glories:
Die alte Oper, scene of fine orchestral and other concerts
And home to a fabulously expensive French restaurant
(where I once received a bit of French from a friendly waitress
in return for a bundle of slightly stained and soiled euro notes;
Also the historic Römer square where I once threw up
About four litres of beer and a gherkin all in a single spectacular spout.

I recall I was on one of my famed pogo-stick tours of major German cities,
Only a few years back, accompanied by a Kentucky-born lady
Of staggeringly easy virtue but indomitable Southern pride,
By name Mary-Anne Bumsenfinger, the heiress to a Louisville magnate,
A big name in the toilet-tissue industry of that lovely city.
She was desperate to visit Frankfurt as she naively believed
It had been named after the delightful capital of her home state,
Amusingly spelled Frankfort in order to minimise confusion,
Which shows a wondrous depth of educational ignorance, does it not?

Dearest Mary-Anne was taken short in the vicinity of the Hauptbahnhof,
But refused to use the shithouse on the main station concourse
As it had been named "der Abraham Lincoln Gedächtnis Restroom"
In honour of the historic links between Germany and Kentucky,
But the silly cow took this as a gross insult to her native land
And as a result she defecated about three pints of noisome goo
Into her skimpy see-through swastika-emblazoned undies.
She was therefore slightly malodorous when we entered a bar
For a refreshing glass of the delicious Sachsenhauser Apfelwein
(and a much-needed wash and brush up in the lav, needless to say).

After a few jars of the lethal local hooch, she was unwise enough
To enter into a frankfurter eating contest with a friendly chap,
Not knowing he was none other than "Fat Fritz" Fickenmeister,
The hairiest man in the entire State of Hesse and (unglaublich)
The world champion sauerkraut and bratwurst eater 1997-2018 inclusive,
A man able to urinate noisily non-stop for three whole minutes
So enormous was the capacity of his bloated bladder.
With fifty or so frankfurters down her gullet, she barely noticed that
The fifty-first was a German sausage of a slightly different type,
Indeed it was Fritzi's (with two enormous hirsute balls slung under)
And by the time she noticed the swap, she was choking on his spunk.

Naturally I (brave Barry Hodges, English gentleman to the core)
Suggested to Fat Fritz this was really not a good show at all,
But when he told me I was an englische Schwanzi-sucker,
I definitely decided discretion was the better part of valour,
And sagely left poor Mary-Anne to her terrible fate at his hands
(in any case I was tired of her nasal sing-song Kentucky accent
and I had her credit card in my hand together with her PIN code).
The Frankfurter Allgemeine the next day noted that the body
Of an unknown fat slut had been found floating in the river,
(probably American because of the complexity of her dental work)
Apparently done to death by excessively vigorous rumpy-pumpy.

The next evening I had the pleasure of attending a nice ballet
At the Oper Frankfurt accompanied by a cute-arsed Korean slag
I had leased out on a short-term basis from an attractive bar
Decorated artistically by some really rather pretty red neon lights.
I honestly felt that it was the least I could do, bearing in mind that
Mary-Anne's credit card facilities would shortly be blocked,
And it seemed silly not to pay her a loving tribute in my own way.
I can really recommend this lively metropolis in the Rhein-Main area,
Mainly because of the ethnic diversity of its ladies of the night
Who know how to satisfy a grieving lover in his hour of need
By exercising their magical gobbling powers to the utmost;
And the toilet facilities at the average bar are worth a trip alone,
Just to savour the rich, ripe stench of beery Germanic urine.