The Specifics of a General

Go ye and read this if you're wondering what the fuck this is.

I don't know if it's because I picture General Buggerman as something of a handlebar-moustached General Melchett from Blackadder Goes Forth, but I can only imagine him singing in the terribly posh, perfectly enunciated tones you'd expect in a Noel Coward song, or from some Gilbert & Sullivan major-general, modern or otherwise.

*

"The Specifics of a General"

[Enter CUNTIGRATIA and BUGGERMAN]

CUNTIGRATIA:
Let your last siege end happy in this crown,
The prize your prick has lost, my cunt has found.
Your seed, sir, with my pleasure, I confess
Was in my cunt a most abundant mess
That had all men—whose pintles I adore—
With bursting bollocks fucked me o'er and o'er—
No man in nature could have filled me more.

BUGGERMAN:
If kings are gods on earth, a queen may claim
The coronet of "goddess" as her name.
And though I know you say it shows
Perfection in that gent
Whose tarse can please divinities
Below in so sublime a sense

I know I owe it all, with no pretence,
To your majestic cunt's omnipotence.

CUNTIGRATIA:
This modesty is charming, dear
But doesn't fit you well
Your virtues I will specify
It's clear to me you're rather swell.

The specifics of a general, I declare:
The fearless rectitude of he who dares!
Whose arm is strong enough to give the mighty Mars a shove.
Whose prick's the very standard of the Queen of Love,
Whose bollocks like a pair of worlds contain
A plethora of pleasures in each vein.
Dearest General, take your due
There's good in every inch of you.
If you'll just oblige my lust, my cunt will show you how it's true.

BUGGERMAN:
Your favours, madam, are so far above
The lowly merits of a soldier's love,
Who would of course in lechery be loyal and obey,
Who in obedience would screw my soul away,
Whose victories would all become, alas,
A poor oblation to your royal snatch.

CUNTIGRATIA:
Still you modestly retire?
My advances don't inspire?
From battle's heat, would you retreat, the way you flee this friendly fire?

BUGGERMAN:
Nay! The courage of a general, I swear,
On the honour of the battle-scars I wear!
But toils of cunt are quite a different thing than work of war.

CUNTIGRATIA:
If fucking seems a toil, good lord, I'll take that horror
Dear General, you must see your mistake.
It's so easy and so pleasing to partake,
Fucking's all that we hold dear,
That assault from front or rear--

BUGGERMAN:
But fuck or fight, some small respite -- a soldier has to rest his spear.

The specifics of a general need leave
Reinforcement is required to relieve
To prematurely push before the forces are renewed
Would only lead to our defeat: we'd be subdued.
My queen, I sigh to celebrate the hour
That stole my love and robbed me of my power.

[Moves to go.]

CUNTIGRATIA:
Dearest General, I say: stay!

BUGGERMAN:
Then I shall, of course, obey.

CUNTIGRATIA:
A kiss adieu, then follow through—just one more for the road, I pray.

BUGGERMAN:
The specifics of a general, if they could
Would have answered that command with a salute.
While the monstruous menstrual coursing of your blood supplies your cunt
With tireless lust, I must however be quite blunt.
This weary lecher sadly must refuse
With prick too weak to do what I would choose.

[Exit]

CUNTIGRATIA:
Dearest General, does my lust
Only turn you to disgust
At our toils, all our spoils--your honour and this love I'd lose?

The specifics of this general I crave:
Ah, Buggerman, as big as he is brave!
I should have worn my passion with the grandeur of a queen.
I should have not betrayed so loose a love off-scene.
My love would then obey my majesty
To please with his particularities.
My passion's given him his treat
A tasty smorgasbord of meat.
And now the glutted lecher scorns to eat.
The specifics of a general, I declare
Are specifically generally unfair!

[Exit]