i - With Slouch of Beast
An idiot and a madman are out mooching with their guns. The madman says, “Look, Pat!” and lunges at some imaginary foe with the old rifle and bayonet, “Stick it where it hurts!” he cries. “Don’t like it, do they? Jolly well don’t...”
So yer idiot just stands there, gawping at the madman for about five seconds. Then his face goes all dead pan and he shouts, like he was calling for his sarnies and stout, “Aw, just shoot the bastards.”
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang… sudden shots are exchanged across the clearing. Idiot and madman hit the deck simultaneously as fire bursts from clumps of bushes on either side. Bish, bang wallop, so to speak, bodies slump outta gaps in the shrubs, land on the turf, brains shot out.
“Are they all down?” asks the idiot (incidentally played here by Mr B. Spoke Hoolligan).
“Everyone but you and I!” cries the madman. “So, where’s our loot?”
“Follow me! I’ll be right behind ya!”
ii - ceci n’est pas un poème
Belarus invades
Europe using migrant hordes
screaming human rights
first deployed are god
bombers next come hoodies bare
armed with frightened kids
foreign language food
vendors then inscrutable
music smells of feet
images that pluck
Western consciences & serve
sanction servers right
till with cocaine end
games & heroin the White
Russian horde prevails
iii - Lost The Plot Lines
#1: You’re accused of possessing a dangerous weapon, the bullet that kills you. At the inquest, a PC (2b politically correct) says it was resisting arrest. Also cited, a dodgy safety catch, and lights that had changed. Thankfully, objections overruled, the judge orders pizza without coleslaw; and the jury retire for another recount.
#2: Corporation tricks the rich into believing their minds can be transferred into cloned copies of themselves as youngsters, then go on to lead second lives in new locations. But all that’s moved is the punters’ loot into accounts controlled by a gang of high tech perps. Loretta d’Orgazmo investigates.
#3: Private crimes require a private dick. Someone pour gear oil over your aura? Insulted by your bridesmaid/best man? A sibling escaped to warmer climes leaving you to care for the aging crone? Your neighbour's a snark for the Fashion Cops? Never mind, Nevin the Nose will sort you out. Family secrets uncovered with discretion, skeletons put firmly back in the closet, dirty washing taken in for questioning, and all your opinions vetted for deadly snake venom/snide.
#4: And in other news; rape trials fall apart after perpetrators turn into undercover cops. Fire brigades seek arsonists for insurance work. Nuclear submarines on standby used as canteens by people smugglers. Social media moghul pushes window cleaner off ladder. Incompetent surgeon wins own hospital in fake draw. Story teller found beaten senseless with selfie-sticks at lakeside beauty spot. Six year-old shoe shine boy behind hoax anthrax cure. & etc..
#5: By the way, we are being watched. Right now. Everything said, done and thought by us is going down in a report that will land on someone's desk at 10:15 tomorrow. The question is whether they are bothered to read it. Shall we buy their lazy, good-for-nothing indifference? Well, that’s just fine. But there’s no need to contact them. As we know, they’ll learn our decisions within 24 hours. And meanwhile, on Episode Two…
iv - Tripi Palet
don’t go making fun
now we know where joking leads
all our yesterdays
Black & Asian folk
got their issues pick a bone
anywhere you like
still it’s rich a Home
Secretary invokes Canute
fighting on the bitch
chess it ain’t them pawns
multiracial types the whites
outta sight tonight
cross the channel while
Sharon’s underwater raft
puts to sea in chains
v - Joe Blob on A Cooking Sock
If I remember correctly, their language was filthy and at root they had little coherent to say. Eliot, however, wrote a terrific treatise on The Pertinence, which was Faber’s first blog roll. Or was it a fig roll they published? My poor head is not what it was. Though I fondly recall the gents in Harrods, worth every Pound. Everyone should pull their teeth out and stage a revival. Lord knows how much we need cheering up those days. What with AIDS and then young Covid turning nineteen the whole world has changed utterly. Actually, what would really do the trick is a good old fashioned dose of salts. Or a jolly hard kick up the jarvis. But I might have read that gag somewhere else. Possibly here.
vi - quick gadget inspection
thanks to natural gas
as the cold comes creeping back
warm your monkey’s brass
when you gotta thirst
give the kitchen tap a twist
plumbing at its best
if a catchy song
stops your mind from wandering
radio’s a thang
so the post is late
get a tablet phone & ert
out your days on Earth
plus you gotta eat
twice a day or once at least
microwave a feast
vii - Sherbert’s Impropriety No 7
First performed on the legless piano by a string of conjoined haggises, this devastatingly important work was later transcribed for playing backwards during The War. A stoned critic writes, “Fetch my earplugs would you, Snell?” Sherbert unfortunately croaked during the composition, and the piece was further unfinished by his grandma, who thought it was a kind of German pudding. Then taken for a Turkish bayonet charge, it was to be interred on the Isle of Arrant but at the last moment got exchanged for an American radiogram, circa 1929.
viii - enough said
blunder bus defence
riding shotgun on retreat
risky seat to take
should they get a voice
those whose guns have said it all
marching home in state
put it ornery
talk like folk can understand
same as everyone
look they’re damaged goods
victims of abuse themselves
babes from household woods
let them speak but peace
that’s another can of pus
words for bitten tongues
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don't stand for it |
