The poster and the peanut


Stood bedazzled in the museum bathroom was Peter Pickle, a fine art appreciater from Leicestershire, a short, scrawny, spectacled gent, with 5 o'clock shadow and an above average sized nose. He wasn't particularly bad looking, though at this very moment he looked quite bizarre, stood at the urinal, one hand flailing the last few droplets from his member, the other moving his glasses back and forth, to focus on the poster glued generously to the wall. One would usually associate awe and bedazzlement with a wide open jaw, a state of amazement, but Peter was rather reserved. Nevertheless, a closed jaw didn't ensure completely sealed lips and a pituitary gland problem he was medicated for came on in full force as dribble exited his mouth like the formations of little rivers, meeting at his waterfall chin to drop onto his clip-on tie. Here is some information about the poster that had given him some sort of pleasure that might justify dribble, it was a bargain flights poster, cheap long weekend tickets to New York at an exclusive rate. Pickle had been to New York before, so it was strange for him to appear so fascinated by this opportunity. Then, in what can only be described as 'lickedy split' he collapsed to the floor, fidgeting as if 10,000 volts of electricty had run him a bubblebath. 
My bad, I must apologise sincerely, as I stood next to this gentleman at the urinals, telling you his life story, (don't worry, he couldn't hear me, he was far too mesmerized) I neglected to mention a severe nut allergy he may have. I also neglected to mention his fondness for fine art, of course, I said he appreciates it, but I could have been a bit more helpful, he is a huge fan, ok? Now the paramedics have rushed him away, I must return to the museum auction, the item I wish to bid on, which Peter Pickle may or may not have been interested in is about to go up for grabs.  If you must know, I am bidding on New York city, the financial hellhole of the world, goodye, goodnight and god bless.
'I want to be a part of it, New York, New York'
This is just some obscure dramatic prose, it's not quite poetry, but if you have ever read anything by Simon Armitage then you should understand!

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