Sunday, April 04, 2010

A very crappy poo-em...

...cuz I was in a shitty mood.

Ladies and gents, now I'll tell you a tale
It will lighten your burden, if you observe the details
So hear of my visit - please pay some attention -
to the "Toilet Manufacturers' Annual Convention"

The shiny yellow walls looked almost divine
But the N and the U had (whoops) dropped off the sign
The exhibition hall was empty at first
When suddenly, attendees flushed in with a burst
The Guest of Honour was most certainly Brit
For when they served coffee, he threatened to quit
"I shan't drink this filth!", disgustedly said he,
"When all I asked for, was a pot-o'-tea!"

So they brought some tea quickly, and he was appeased
And the organizers, they heaved an air of release
"After all, we're family, like shishtersh and brothersh,
let'sh shit and enjoy!"
slurred one to the other.
The evening began, dinner bowls passed around
I must say the flavour of the beans was profound
They were baked in France (it was the organizers' idea)
by the world renowned chef (from Loordes) called D'Arhea.

"Brethren, and Sistern" the speaker began,
(The organizers here noted this was according to plan)
"My name is Peter, friends call me Mr. P
And being among you, just fills me with glee.
In fact I'm so full, I must use the Room -
So just a quick pit stop, then we shall resume."

The speaker thus zipped off the stage in haste
Leaving the organizers slightly pale-faced.

You see, neither was good with the oral powers
One shlurred, the other confused doublews and arse.
"My fellow shitizens, we'll continue tonight
But let'sh have our raffle while P'sh out of shite
Now it'sh ten quid for the firsht one and five for more"

Said the first organizer, giving the second one the floor.
"Rhen you're done rith the tickets, re rill rork the machine
and if your number turns up, then rell, you rin!"

"Your prize", said he to the lady who'd won
"is a solid lead seat, in strength: number one!
Number two in looks, but in nothing is it third
It's so rery robust, that re call it
the Sturd!"
While the winner was exclaiming how this was so great,
That her husband would never manage lifting that weight,
Mr P came back to join the crowd
Surrounding him, was a gaseous cloud

Just when it all had been going so super
Mr P, oh, that party pooper
Banished the convention, with what must
be only described as a guttural gust
What can I say? The crap hit the fan!
Men and women and animals, they ran
So quickly did the milling crowd depart
That P's stench could be called a piss-off-fart

Every year since then, in the month of July
To relieve that moment, I still sometimes try
The Annual Convention still goes on
Alhough Peter's member-ship's been withdrawn
The organizers occasionally write to me
"You're our next 'Gust of Honour' if you chose to be!"
Their profits are up, in spite of their oops
Well, the bottom line is that - everybody poops.

Thursday, April 01, 2010


"Thus is foretold," said the prophecies of old
"When the Moon will be blood upon the midnight sky,
Fire and flood will equally hold sway,
Rivers will dry, mountains give way,
The Time of the Starchild, then, will be nigh."

      The planets aligned, this was the Sign.
      Priests stared at the firmament and frowned,
      While laymen, scared witless, pointed above
      (Some said they saw a heavenly dove)
      And a solitary star dropped to the ground!

So they traveled on foot a hundred paces,

They traveled from a thousand faraway places.

They came wearing rags covered in mould,

They came bearing gifts of glittering gold.

They silently, reverently whispered his name,

They hoisted their banners and coveted his fame.

They prayed with folded hand and asked for salvation,

They spat on the ground and called on his damnation.

The King called court, nobles pledged their support
"Power be to Thou," said the chief vizier,
"Let us avow (since this 'starchild' is new)
We shall nip him in the bud, while his followers are few!"
Agreed the assembly "Hear! Hear!"

      Thus the elites took to the streets
      And poisoned every ear that lent to their lies
      Soothsayers disappeared into the night
      Murder and riot and pillage and blight
      filled the cities with tears and cries

They thought of the signs and trembled in fear,

They heard the rumours and in mocking, they jeered.

They locked their gates and boarded their doors,

They didn't even care, went on with their chores.

They cynically noted that something was odd,

They loved him and hailed him as prophet and God!

But none of them noticed it was already dawn

When lo, and behold! The Starchild was born!!