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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Dot Blogs she was a buxom lass and hefty heifer too who married Bobby Eugene Blows when she was twenty- two. They lived upon a dairy farm alongside Boggy Creek and milked a hundred fresian cows … yes seven days a week. Now Dotty took to motherhood and had some eighteen kids and Bobby too was very fond of all his billy lids. Though life was using hand me downs from hats to underwear, it taught them old world values; like the gift of how to share. Dot seldom ventured from the place and trips to town were rare as she’d become content with life and simple country fare. But Bob, in a romantic mood, applied his boyish charm and thought he’d hit the city and get Dotty off the farm. Their anniversary was due and Bob now thought it time to hit the big smoke for a change were they could wine and dine. Well Dot had dressed up to the nines and looked a proper treat, but how to fit her in the ute had poor Rob kind of beat. Poor Dot was three axe handles when one measured ’cross her rump and putting things politely she was rather flamin’ plump. But Dot she was a country girl and just jumped in the back and soon both her and husband Rob were heading down the track. The cities razzle dazzle blew both Dot and Rob away and headed for the classy place where they were gonna stay. But when Dot hit the doorway well she then ran out of luck, as she was jammed there tightly and evidently stuck. The chaps behind the service desk and three bell boys as well they tried to push poor Dotty free but Robby knew darn well that Dottie’s hefty hips were simply wedged in there too tight and going out to wine and dine was now in doubt that night. Just then a bell boy cried out loud, “I have a plan for sure. I’ll grab the local rugby team that’s dining right next door.” The forwards packed behind poor Dot and gave it all they had, but all they did was stir her up and she was getting mad. Then Rob remembered once back home how Bert the bull was jammed real tight inside the race they had and how they fin’lly planned to rub his hips with lots of grease and on the count of three they’d hit him with a jigger and you’re right … he busted free. The Motel staff then whipped around and searched each patron’s bag and grabbed all sorts of greasy stuff their little hands could snag. Rob rubbed old Dottie’s hips all down and laid it on real thick, then grabbed the night guards stun gun; it was sure to do the trick. Poor Dot she kicked and bellowed when the voltage hit her hide and man she cut some capers and she went all goggle eyed. She snorted and she struggled like some poor wild frightened beast, but just like Bert, Rob did admit, she busted free at least. Now Dot is back at Boggy Creek and though poor Rob tries hard she won’t budge from the Dairy farm; she just won’t budge a yard. Poor Rob now does the shopping and the thing he finds bizarre Is rubbing Dot down ev’ry night where two prongs left a scar. ©Bush Poet and Balladeer - Merv Webster
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