Thanks to the internet
my wife is a very happy woman.
My penis is now forty-seven feet long
it stays erect for weeks at a time
and it is garlanded by hundreds of genuine Rolex watches
acquired with the millions I have won
in various Albanian lotteries
and the billions generously deposited in my accounts
by the grateful executors of the wills
of innumerable African tribal chiefs
all mysteriously deceased
along with their entire extended families
in improbably gruesome lawnmower accidents in Liechtenstein.
My account with Lloyds has been suspended.
(I don't have one.)
My wife's breasts
enlarge and reduce, spontaneously,
as we use our 95% discounted software
to gaze at the pictures of our free timeshare apartments
enjoying continuous multiple orgasms
whilst admiring our genuine Chinese historical artefacts
purchased online from Hong Kong.
Our garden is full of imported rubber.
Not rubber sex toys
or even rubber boots
just: rubber.
I have more free Coldplay MP3s
than you could wave a suicide note at.
I also have Kate Moss Suction Power.
I don't know what that is,
but I am hoping it may be useful
next time the toilet needs unblocking.
I now know the Cyrillic alphabet
and the Polish for ‘are you embarrased about your size?'
Every morning, a new surrealist word juxtaposition appears in my inbox
as the spammers seek to avoid the filter.
It turk may bake!
Crabmeat be Paris!
Out evoke in robins!
Decomposing lark's vomit engulf Crystal Palace!
(ok, I mad the last one up.)
And, to prove that truth is indeed stranger than fiction
in our brave new world,
my website is recommended
as one of the top fifty stockbroking sites
on many search engines.

Now that really is Pythonesque.