A Skin Story

This is the story of Andrew van Boreskin,
A boy who had managed to damage his foreskin,
He said to his mother, will I need a full cast?
Nay, lad, said his mother, just pink 'Lastoplast.

But I'm searching your room and removing your mags,
There'll be no more jerking at silicone hags,
And though he wailed and he whimpered his Mama stayed firm,
There'll be no more tugging at your old trouser worm.

And he fell to dispond and walked around glum,
With not so much as a flash of a tit or a bum,
When he found on the net, at Amazon com,
A bottle of stuff for the endangered homme.

So he whisked off a dollar and waited for the post,
Oh, soon he'd be rubbing and tugging like most,
As he daubed on the lotion and waited for the fix,
That would correct the imbalance on his poor damaged prick.

And he waited and waited, but, alas, 'twas no deal,
His poor battered foreskin refuséd to heal,
And he said to the mater, by Gad, I'm undone,
And she nodded and said, too true, honey bun.

So he went to the keyboard and wrote a review,
Your product is crap, I'm disgusted, fuck you,
And the makers replied, but your buck's with our banker,
So fuck you instead, you incorrigible wanker.