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by Danny "Don Juan" Henrey

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and crop-marked bum cheeks lie
In the desert great. Near them, on the sand,
Half-drunk, a demented author squats, whose sigh,
And wrinkly bits, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that his victims well those passions knew
Which yet survive, writ thick in crimson ink,
The vile attentions that from his boxers grew:
And with these words did he the skies outstare:
‘My name is Walter Kirn, king of kink:
Look on my works, ye Buggers, and despair!’
Nothing of his mind remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, his bottie bared,
Writhe perverts damn’d, stretch’d lay to countless lay.