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In Lancashire's embrace, where emerald lanes unfurl, Rides Vic, a knight of wind, upon his crimson pearl. His steed, a Blackbird, sleek and swift of wing, A symphony of power, a mechanical thing.

The dawn's first light ignites the ruby on its breast, As Vic throws back his leathers, and puts his soul to test. The twist of the throttle, a surge that sets him free, With engine's rhythmic roar, a symphony.

Through rolling hills they dance, a blur of black and red, The wind a whispered chorus, secrets softly said. Each bend a whispered promise, a challenge to embrace, Man and machine entwined, in this furious chase.

Sunlight streaks the visor, paints the world in gold, As time and space dissolve, a story yet untold. The blur of passing hedgerows, a kaleidoscope of green, A fleeting, vibrant echo, on this asphalt scene.

And when the sun descends, painting the sky aflame, He guides his feathered stallion, back whence they came. With heart both full and sated, a grin upon his face, Vic knows he'll dream of Blackbird, in this windswept, rural space.

For in that dance with engine, on freedom's open road, He's found a solace deep, a story to be told. So raise a glass to Vic, and his Blackbird swift and bold, May their rides forever echo, in stories yet untold.

Edited by Vic101
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2 hours ago, husoi said:

disgusted face GIF

 

A Scotsman named Husoi, so grand, Rode a Honda Pan through out the land. With a haggis in tow, He'd yodel and crow, "This wee beastie's the best in the land!"

Edited by Vic101
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1 hour ago, Vic101 said:

 

A Scotsman named Husoi, so grand, Rode a Honda Pan through out the land. With a haggis in tow, He'd yodel and crow, "This wee beastie's the best in the land!"

I'm not a Scot 🤬

Just live here because of the lovely weather...

 

 

 

and midges 

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There was a young man named O'brien

Who was mauled half to death by a tiger

When fully recovered

He awoke and discovered

A prosthetic leg made out of titanium

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An old favourite 

 

She frowned and called him Mr.

Because in sport he kissed her,

And so in spite

That very night

The Mr Kr Sr. 

 

And one no longer valid

 

There was a thick headed Marine

Whose musical sense was not keen

He said, It is odd

I cannot tell God

Save the weasel from Pop goes the Queen. 

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