Your herpes enjoyed Glastonbury almost as much as you did


As you, bleary-eyed, regale your fellow office workers with tales of exotic debauchery, trench-foot, food-poisoning or the wind in your hair as you defecated in a field; everything seems insignificant next to the small itchy reminder that sharing a towel with a hippy from Croydon may have been an error.


Herpes said: ‘This was the best Glastonbury ever!’ Back in the 70s I was just a humble cold sore, but now I can reach 175,000 unwashed teenagers. Your average festival clean-up now extends to a wire brush, rubbing alcohol and a fervent hope your girlfriend doesn’t notice the rash.’


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