Memories of Queensland

O what a lovely town is Brisbane, capital of delightful Queensland,
Where I have heard there are quite a lot of queens
Especially those who frequent the Wickham Bar in Fortitude Valley
(and that includes my fat illegitimate tranny nephew Agnes
who sadly died of several enormous anal injections
of disease-ridden spunk from persons unknown).

O what a beautiful locus Brisbane is indeed, where in the sad days
Of World War Two, a brave band of butch Aussie patriots
Fought against the invading millions of American soldiers
Who came to ravish the lovely local sheilahs via cheap kosher trinkets,
And where at least one brave cobber died defending "Ye Olde Southern Crosse",
The glorious ensign of Oz, symbol of the land of the bludger.

And I well recall meeting the fat whore Meredith near the Old Windmill
(lovely historic monument built by convict labour,
deported from Great Britain for being too common)
Who was, in mid-copulation avec moi (le grand Barry Hodges),
Sadly totally decapitated by a tiny demented Aboriginal dwarf
(intoxicated by a gallon or two of ice-cold Castlemaine)
Wielding a dangerously sharp plastic native didgeridoo,
And then the poor tart toppled headlong into the nearby river,
Neither part of her wanton body ever to be seen again,
(pollution in the dear old Brissie being quite startling
thanks to the inadequate municipal sewerage system -
O how I recall the flood waters turning dark brown-red and spreading
across the countryside, causing innocent bystanders
to have unwarrantedly early heart attacks and thus clutter the sidewalks
with their bloated convict heritage bodies). O woe is me!

But sad though my loss, there was yet a silver lining:
I had fortunately paid the saucy plump whore by traveller's cheque,
And, since she was floating in the vast Pacific briny,
Ready to become a hungry shark's brekkie, she was unable
To cash it at a branch of Westpac, thus I scored for a free poke
(although not a very good one as she was a bit on the dry side).
Thus, upon due reflection, I shall henceforth skip the delightful state
Of Queensland on any future Antipodean visits as (if truth be told)
Its whores really are of insufficient mettle to get me going
And I am not very fond of fried kangaroo or wallaby burgers
And a floater with baked beans is hardly what you'd call haute cuisine.