There is one in our midst who will, upon the twenty-fourth day of this month, pass a significant milestone in his life.  It is Fred “X” Barlow of whom we speak.  A brief tribute is offered to the birthday boy herewith:




All know that Freddy’s quite thrifty,

Though his wardrobe and tastes run quite nifty,

He’s hoarding away,

Enough money to pay,

For surgical enhancements after fifty.


Now in the twilight of Fred’s stint,

In his beer-reddened eyes there’s a glint

Of gloom and despair,

For he’s losing his hair,

And soon won’t have much left to tint.


But the X is quite dapper at the least,

His attire always natty and creased,

Though there’s starch in his shirt,

There’s also worm dirt,

A foul habit that needs to be ceased.


There’s more to be told about Freddie,

He parades in Nancy’s best teddy,

With stuffing in bust,

Exuding his lust,

With his wanger poked up at the ready!


While on the dark side of Fred X,

He prefers a bit of kink in his sex,

His acts in the buff,

Require whip and cuff,

The result, he claims, of a hex.


Could the witch be the innocent Nancy?

Who decries kink as disgusting and chancy,

She resists with her all,

But when wanting to ball,

She still finds Ol’ Fred suits her fancy.


The pair has produced one sensation,

The wonder of Alex’s gestation,

As their love endures,

Pray God she matures,

Before her old Pappy’s expiration.


At fifty Fred Barlow’s no amateur,

So these musings in iambic pentameter

Are no hill for the sage,

Simply playing on age,

While Ol’ Fred keeps on getting more damn mature.


For those so inclined, you may now raise your glass to this old fart.