Button’s Big Boo

Boo!

Yes, it’s that time of year again. The ghouls and witches and all other manner of beasties are coming out of hibernation to ensure that humanity becomes increasingly perverted by fear and frivolity. They want nothing more than to have a vulgar party on cemetery grounds and to stuff poor, helpless mortal faces with sweets and other freebies. How shocking!

The situation has gotten so bad that even Button is getting himself into trouble. Oh, wait, he’s always getting into trouble so, no change there then. In this video, in his own adorable way, Button discourses on Wilde, Hitler, Hanukkah and… erm, a certain unmentionable medical procedure. (You have been warned!)

We hope you’ll enjoy our silly little whim, and wish you a happy and spooky Halloween!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

A Bad Dancer is Always Impeded by his Testicles

My name’s Diego. Surname the Prowl.
On the pull tonight, struttin’ like a peafowl.
Cannot get enough of this demure goth chick
So I decide to woo her with my party trick.

Yeah, I do the mash.
I cut a rug and throw the scraps.
The muncher mash.
Shake a wicked hoof in cowboy chaps.
Trippin’ light fantastic. No, I’m not gay.
Just want the women and won’t swing that way.

No girl can resist the force of my mojo
When I twirl it about like a loco yo-yo.
Pelvic thrusts and crazy jitterbug.
Yeah, fly to me, my lurid ladybug!

Like, I do the mash.
I roll Stones and I do the Jagger.
The muncher mash.
I wobble my jelly with a ghastly swagger.
I’m the Man in Black, not a dusty rock star.
Just want the women and a hella cool scar.

I cavort with bodies like lightnin’ greased
’Til my arse falls off for the ghouls to feast.
On this night of All Hallows’ Eve
Even arms plop from their gory sleeves.

So, I do the mash.
Through this house of death I dare to tap.
The muncher mash.
My feet a whirl of ‘don’t give a crap’.
In this dance universe I’m immortal Duncan.
Tango, waltz, and freaky hula funkin’.

I twerk on the slab under strobin’ light.
When my brain drops out, a queasy sight!
It skids across the floor like a raw meat pie,
Half eaten, left alone to petrify.

Yet I do the mash.
This lust for her I can hardly quash.
The muncher mash.
My heart’s no more than charnel squash,
For on it she jumps like an undead foal.
I’m left cryin’ a river with the dungfly shoal.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016