Inflatable You

This is Heaven sent and hardly suitable for children:

Tim Minchin, an Australian comedian i saw and enjoyed on the Edinburgh Fringe, is blogging! Here is an excerpt from one of his hillarious songs he also performed at the show i saw: If he ever comes round your part of the world, you just have to see him:

Inflatable You Lyrics:

Inflatable You

Your love for me is not debatable
Your sexual appetite’s insatiable
You never ever make me waitable
Delectable, inflatable you.

You don’t have problems with your weight at all
You never steal food off my plate at all
I never have to masturbate at all
Unstoppable, inflatable you.

You never seem to menstruate at all
So you’re not angry when I’m late at all
I feel permanently felatable
Unpoppable, inflatable you.

With you in my arms I feel we could just fly away
With the right kind of gas I might even try it some day
In this ocean of life I’m never afraid we might drown
We could just float forever whatever the weather
Whenever my inflatable lover’s around.

Your thighs and buttocks are so holdable
You always do what you are toldable
And if we argue you just foldable
Controllable consolable you.

My mates all reckon you are suitable
I took you ‘round to watch the footable
And Steve and Gary said you’re rootable
Commutable, refutable you.

You’re never sensitive or tickley
When I rub you my skin goes prickerly
It’s know an static electricity
Felicity when I’m kissing you.

Your skin is so smooth – I couldn’t afford you with hair
You have all the holes real girls have got plus one for the air
Your problems are simple, I don’t need my Masters in Psych
To know if you get down I just perk you right up
With a couple of squirts from the pump off my bike.

You never wake up when I snore at all
A trait which I find quite adorable
You have a box and you are storable
Ignorable, back-doorable you.

Any sexual position’s feasible
Although you don’t bend at the knees at all
Your hooters are so firm and squeezable
Increasable, un-creasable you.

You don’t complain about my hairy back
Or ‘bout the inches that downstairs I lack
You’re not disgusted by my furry crack
Burt Bacharach, Jack Kerouac ooo.

Now birth control is not an issue
I clean it all up with a tissue
I bet my jealous friend all wish you
Were insatiably inflatably theirs.

Don’t let me down.
Don’t let me down.
Don’t let me down.
And I won’t let you down.