Politics

Maskirovka ~ a nursery rhyme

Putin had a little coup
He hadn’t been expecting
While lurking in a Russian loo
Attempting his erecting

Damn Prighozin! I nearly had
A hard on. Proper stonker
And now it’s gone I’m feeling sad
Said Putin. What a plonker

He shut his eyes and tried again
He dressed as Betty Grable
He tried remembering the men
He’d had across his table

But nothing. Except Prighozin
Appearing. Maskirovka!
Said Putin. For the veil was thin
Or was it too much vodka

Fuck Prighozin. Said Putin and
Hey presto! An erection
Three inches in his little hand
Relief and resurrection

He smiled his special Putin smile
And raised an eyebrow slightly
(Been having Botox for a while
A little prick twice nightly)

The work was done, and that was it
Successful masturbation
And finally a face to fit
His special operation

Much prettier than Volodymyr
Zelensky who, said Putin
I tried to take right up the rear
But then he put the boot in

Knock, knock. Who’s there? It’s Prighozin
Come in and have some vodka!
Said Putin. For the veil was thin
Or was it Maskirovka

© Gail Foster 24th June 2023

Boris Had A Little Think

Boris had a little think
It wasn’t going well
And so he had another drink
His queasiness to quell

‘I like a nice Merlot’ he said
‘Although a cheaper wine
It gets me proper off my head
And leaves me feeling fine’

Boris poured a massive glass
Of Merlot, and some more
And woke up fallen on his arse
Upon the kitchen floor

‘I blame that Rishi bloke for this
Theresa May for that
And anyone who takes the piss
In opposition sat’

‘You mark my words’ he gestured in
The mirror, ‘I will rise
Like Jesus Christ and – where’s the gin?
I’ve run out of supplies’

He wobbled to the kitchen and
Cried ‘Carrie, what’s to do?’
And with his member in his hand
‘Look what I’ve got for you!’

The house was empty though, the halls
Were of his wife bereft
He felt a sinking in his balls
Was no-one, no-one left?

‘Cooee!’ Thank God, it was Nadine!
How fragrant she! They kissed
‘My God, my love, where have you been?
Come, help me get more pissed’

And so she trotted to the shop
And bought him wine and beer
Prosecco, porn, and fizzy pop
Enough to last a year

And oh the party that they had
‘You’re wonderful’ she gushed
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘and I’m bad’
‘I know you are’ she blushed

And then there was a knock and it
Was Jacob – ‘Come and join!’
Said Nadine, flopping out a tit
And tickling his groin

And it was perfect. Jacob in
His gimp suit, Boris drunk
And Nadine high on fancy gin
‘What was the thought I thunk?’

Thought Boris. For he had forgot
Quite who he was and why
Was he Prime Minister, or not?
And he began to cry

But not for long, for sweet Nadine
Did dry his eyes and pour
Another drink, for she was keen
To get him on the floor

‘You’re wonderful’ she said
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘so are you’
(Though anyone would do in bed
When he had had a few)

‘And baby I got Brexit done’
‘Oh say it once again
Shakespearean and sweetly spun
You giant among men!’

We’ll leave them to it there, I think
They few, they happy few
Nadine the prettiest in pink
And Boris in the loo

And Jacob dressed in latex. Ew
What some folk do for kicks
‘At least we’re not in the EU’
Said Boris, between sicks

‘You OK, hun?’ said sweet Nadine
‘Of course I am’ he said
‘And I will rise again, my Queen
To bed, my love, to bed!’

© Gail Foster 10th June 2022

Who Are The British People Anyway?

Who are the British people anyway?
The ones who with Conservatives agree
And only them? Are we allowed to be
The people now? Are we allowed to say
A word against the government today?
Free speech, you say, but not the BBC
It’s not for that you pay the licence fee
To let the lefty woke get in the way

The who? The woke, the liberal elite
The Linekers, the Attenboroughs, you
And every other person in your street
Who disagrees with what the Tories do
Be quiet you, while we turn up the heat
It’s not as if you’re British people too

© Gail Foster 10th March 2023

He Always Was Conservative, Was Fred 

He always was Conservative, was Fred
'The one thing they will never take away -
Conservative and proud!' he used to say
'And British. British born and British bred'
He liked a bit of bunting on the shed
And Elgar, bits of which he liked to play
Upon his trumpet on Election Day
'To keep away the immigrants' he said

When Boris came at first he liked him well
But then there was the party thing, and he
Was not impressed by that, nor by the smell
Of bullshit, Truss's rubbish, his MP - 
The list went on. He just said 'Fucking Hell!'
And died, they said, in front of the TV

© Gail Foster 21st October 2022

What Company They Keep 

On the introduction of the phrase 'anti-growth coalition' to the Conservative lexicon

The Ministry of Silly Words devised
A phrase designed to bring about division
So dreadful it was worthy of derision
One has to wonder why one is surprised
Or that one is, with others so despised
Described as being in some coalition
So comprehensive in its composition
That definition would be ill-advised

Wait - anti-what? The anti-what are who?
The enemy. The enemy is me?
And anyone who dares to disagree
Apparently, with anything they do
What words they use to lull us all to sleep!
How dull they are. What company they keep

© Gail Foster 7th October 2022

Elizabeth Said 

I'm delighted, said Liz, to have won in the vote
Even though I am up against Rishi, the scrote
I'm not looking behind me I'm looking ahead
You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said

I'm excited, said Liz, and I'm ready to hit
The ground running. I'm up against Rishi, the shit
But I'm really alive even though I look dead
You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said

I'm invited, said Liz, by my mates the MPs 
To go up against Rishi. I know about cheese
And I know about pork so I'll keep us all fed
You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said

I'm far sighted, said Liz, though I struggle to see
And I'm up against Rishi, who's richer than me
There is nothing unsavoury under my bed
You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said

There's wrongs to be righted, said Liz, I'm the one
To right all the wrongs what the government done
Though there's nothing at all going on in my head
You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said

© Gail Foster 20th July 2022

Mr Sheen 

Imagine, if you will, the sorry scene
The morning after, when, for all their sins
You've had to go and empty all the bins
At Downing Street. You didn't want to clean
Who does? You spray a mist of Mr Sheen
And polish, then you pick up all the tins
With fag butts in, and bottles of fruit gins
With lipstick on, and wonder who has been
The twat who spaffed the red wine up the wall
Or drunk enough to decorate with sick
The silken carpets running up the hall
If you were rich you'd tell them where to stick
Their fucking job, their fag butts, and their wine
- You spray a bit more Mr Sheen, and shine

© Gail Foster 26th May 2022

Boris Had A Little Do 

Boris had a little do
With biscuits and with cheese
As little bits of blossom blew
Upon the British breeze
It was against the rules but hey
As if he gave a toss
It was a warm and sunny day
And Boris was the boss

Be sure your sins will find you out
And somebody did tell
And everyone began to shout
'What is that horrid smell?'
'It's Boris Johnson's lucky pants
He coughed and followed through!'
And suddenly the sycophants
(Except for one or two

Or three or four or five or six)
Did hail a passing bus
And chucked him under it. Mud sticks
And no-one wants a fuss
'Alas poor Boris. Knew him well
But didn't want to be
Associated with the smell'
They said. 'It wasn't me!'

Said Boris, bleating like a lamb
His back against the wall 
'I'll go get Jonathan Van Tam
And he'll explain it all'
But silence was the stern reply
Expedience the crack
And so the shit began to fly
And Boris got the sack 

Or did he? Will he? Won't he? What? 
His fleece is white as snow
And even though he's lost the plot
There's still the book to go
'It wasn't me!' he said. But there
Was no-one left to hear
He ran his fingers through his hair
And poured another beer

And waited for the storm to pass
Which only took a while
For being of a certain class
And of a certain style
The shit slid off him easily
So shiny was his skin
And sure enough and sleazily
He slipped his way back in

And had another little do
With biscuits and with cheese
And laughter on the breezes blew
All through the London trees
And all was well for Boris, hey
For no-one gave a toss
It was a warm and sunny day
And Boris was the boss

© Gail Foster 11th January 2022

Hancock Goes Shopping

Matt Hancock went down to the shop
With his knob out. ‘It’s OK I’ll pop
A mask on my face
And leave plenty of space
And I’ve got lots of flags on my top’

Matt Hancock, enjoying the breeze
Round his gonads, went round by the cheese
And selected salami
Some gherkins, pastrami
Some wonky bananas, and peas

Matt Hancock then picked up The Sun
And saw he was in it. ‘What fun!
And, may I say
What a glorious day
For getting, er…everything done!’

Matt Hancock skipped out to the car
Where his bird (altogether now, ah!)
Was waiting. ‘It’s hot’
She said, ‘and you forgot
Your trousers again. You’ll go far’

Matt Hancock relaxed in his seat
With his knob out, and put up his feet
On the dashboard. ‘Drive on’
He said, then they were gone
Leaving skidmarks all over the street

© Gail Foster 25th June 2021