Quotes from “The Hippopotamus” by Stephen Fry

There was a young girl from Costessey

Whose pubes were curly and glostessey

Her thighs and her arse

Were smooth as mown grass

And her cunt was dark, dank and mostessey.
Simon, for whom poetry is a closed book in a locked cupboard in a high attic in a lonely house in a remote hamlet in a distant land, kept saying to his friends, 'This is Uncle Ted.
Simon, for whom poetry is a closed book in a locked cupboard in a high attic in a lonely house in a remote hamlet in a distant land, kept saying to his friends, 'This is Uncle Ted. He's a famous poet. He
all the sewage engineers in London alone go on strike. Result? Turds and tampons flopping out your kitchen tap, your feet squelching in scum and ooze where'er you walk. Typhus, cholera, thirst and catastrophe. Hardship, discomfort, nuisance, impact and news-worthiness quotients? High.'
'Scenario A: all the poets in England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland go on strike. Result? It would be fourteen years before anyone outside Gordon Square or the offices of the TLS so much as noticed. Hardship, discomfort and nuisance quotient? Nil. Impact?
When push-off comes to shove-off, a man must have a reason to get out of bed in the mornings, something more than the threat of bedsores at any rate.
fuck my best boots
seat on the board, sports team, honorary committee membership, club, satanic abuse group, political party .
Stephen Fry

seat on the board, sports team, honorary committee membership, club, satanic abuse group, political party .
If you're a half-way decent human being you've probably been sacked from something in your time ... school,
If you're a half-way decent human being you've probably been sacked from something in your time ...
I've suffered for my art, now it's your turn.
As the man said, I've suffered for my art, now it's your turn.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I imagine a world in which women enjoy sex: a world of heterosexual cruising areas in parks and promenades, heterosexual bars, heterosex­ual back rooms, heterosexual cinemas, heterosexual quar­ters of the town where women roam, searching for chance erotic encounters with men.
Do gay men tarting themselves up for a night in a club whine about the vile sexism which insists they must be made attractive in order to be inspected like cattle?
There's no excuse for crashing a car sober.
Of course. Of bloody course.
Nothing like the parted admiring lips of a seminar of schoolgirls to make a man feel wanted. Why else would anyone try to become a poet?
Absolutely love small women, they make my dick look so much bigger.
It's a rare experience in this world to be proved right on anything
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