swansong of the month

 

half baked/half burnt

Fried Bread on Toast

The Sock Puppet: Welcome to the show! We've brought in two classical scholars to find out just which of them – a grand pair of old Oxbridge lags - is the jolliest good fellow.

Fried Bread: I say, this is a bloody cheek. Oxbridge? What the HELL is an Oxbridge when it's at home?

Toast: Quite. I could happily go to the foot of our marble staircase!

Fried Bread: Well put, old chap!

The Sock Puppet: So, are you denying being graduates of the two snobbiest educational cliques in the country?

Toast: Certainly not!

Fried Bread: Now you're hitting the spade on the head!

The Sock Puppet: Are you both from filthy rich backgrounds?

Fried Bread: There's nothing dirty about ours.

Toast: And there's nothing background about mine.

The Sock Puppet: Which of you is the greatest polymarf?

Toast: 'Tis said abroad my friend here holds that distinction.

Fried Bread: (bowing) I thank you.

Toast: As a frequent ex-cyclist, I believe in giving credit where it is due. But don't worry, I shan't be offering you a couple of grand on decent terms.

Fried Bread: Then you also acknowledge my superior earning capacity?

Toast: For those of us in public service, the only true rewards are free accommodation and the occasional ear of Her Royal Maj.

Fried Bread: What about doing the odd line in the royal lavs?

Toast: As a son-of-John, I do apologise. You must be mixing me up with someone else. ELTON John, perhaps?

Fried Bread: Perish the thought. Elton and I go a long way back...

Toast: ...as the choirboy said to the bishop.

Fried Bread: Now, now!

The Sock Puppet: Let's discuss your uncanny resemblance to Pericles, the secret tyrant who rescued Athens from the clutches of revolutionary democrats.

Toast: You have me there.

The Socket Puppet: What would you have for your Last Brexit?

Toast: Smoked Haddock with a lightly poached egg on top.

The Sock Puppet: Fried Bread?

Fried Bread: Very funny indeed.

The Sock Puppet: Turning to your reputations as authors, which of you holds the record for forests obliterated?

Fried Bread: I believe my environmental credentials are pari qua non.

Hovis Bunsen: Don't you mean, pari non qua?

Jesus F. Christ: Well, it's like the Judgement of Paris.

Sonny Bon Jove: They all look the same from behind.

Huge Lorry Driver's Mate: Pull over, I need to get out for a minute.

Toast: FFS, just fill a plastic water bottle and drop it on the hard shoulder!

Fried Bread: As I said, my views on digital pollution are without equal...

The Sock Puppet: And we'd like to assure the public that no keyboards were soiled during the production of this broadcast. I declare the contest a draw!

Toast: I demand a recount!

Fried Bread: And I demand a rebate on my income tax.

Toast: You will see me afterwards.

Fried Bread: Famous last words.

swansong of the month

turning water into cheese has been

public target number one for him

he has always woven thick from thin

bet himself a million times to win

fame’s a lottery the zip code kid

now's the time to hedge his fund again

give the plate a final dozy spin

the alternative's a near run thing

meet at Waterloo the Chunnel train

break déjeuner in the lion's den

pardon my French but what’s eating them

frogs is envy you gotta choose one

side or other sit down & talk plain

horse sense anything else keep the plan

secret get the kids to dance & sing

***

he's his own philosophy you dig

selfish giant from the Nibelung

rides a donkey wears an amber ring

taken for the saviour bless his shlong

always hungry at the supper gong

rarely comes in late & never wrong

spent the war on furlough Mr Big

organised a Wagner tribute gig

selling tickets in a powdered wig

Rolling Stones refused to play or sing

he & Mick had words so called The King

do some cover versions kinder thing

Jesus on the line he said he'd ring

tell Him when The Grateful Dead have sung

He can warm them up for Stick The Pig

***

here I'm making a prediction on

China was & is a Neverland

oh my gosh they fucken stole my wind

tell you what to make amends let's sing

20,000 light years from what d'you

mean the metre doesn’t scan it rhymes

showbiz ain't the game it was back then

I'd a been a star for certain can

anyone deny I had the skin

God's my witness paid His limousine

so who's missing from this final scene

bring the whole caboodle bang the bong

only gonna say this once again

China is a kindergarten Son

OK now we’ll do just one more song

...from the chapbook:

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Not Again!