Humour

Bar Humbug

In which there is much bad language in The Vaults (the best little micro pub in town), and Mortimer Cheese makes an unfounded allegation about Santa…

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Not Bitter - Copy

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 Mortimer Cheese wasn’t easily pleased

And he didn’t like Christmas at all

At the pub where he went for his grub and a vent

He would sometimes just rant at the wall

Particularly riled by people who smiled

He would give them a piece of his mind

He just didn’t get to where he was today

By being in any way kind

“Happy Christmas” they said, to the back of his head

“I think not” he would say as he turned

“Are you taking the piss?” he would splutter and hiss

Spraying mist from the beer he had earned

“Don’t give me that, about Christmas, you twat

All that tinsel and plastic and light

Santa” he said, “is a paedo in red

And I’m wishing for cloud on the night

As for the star and the kings from afar

I’m for Dawkins and none of that tosh

Jesus!” he said, “You are well off your head

Bring on the shagging and nosh!”

Seven pints supped, he was just warming up

He had a few choice things to say

Some thought he joked with the words that he spoke

But most folk just melted away

One girl held a candle, despite all his scandal

They had once had a ‘thing’ in his car

In a zebra striped dress which she wore to impress

She watched him with lust from the bar

“Leave me off your list” he said, getting more pissed

“Not you love, I’ll come in your stocking

A quick in and out, that’s what Santa’s about”

And other things frankly more shocking

His blood pressure rose as the atmosphere froze

And his words chilled the air of The Vaults

It seemed a good crack to stay on the attack

So he started on everyone’s faults

The sad and the chubby, the hapless, the grubby

All punters were grist to his mill

“What’s wrong with you folk, can you not take a joke

You’re all bloody ugly or ill”

By quarter to nine he had well crossed a line

Malc the landlord said “Cheese Boy, you’re barred”

“More feckin’ drink” said the drunk man, “I think

That I’m better than you and well hard”

“No, you’ve had enough” said the landlord, “so tough

It’s time you went home to your bed

You’ve been nasty and loud, you’ve done Britain First proud

And you’ve told us we’re better off dead”

Mortimer grumbled, and stood up and stumbled

And pointed himself at the door

Knocking the bar so the big humbug jar

Fell off and smashed on the floor

“Humbugs for me” he said, grinning with glee

As he picked out a few from the glass

“I’m already sweet but these humbugs are neat”

So he necked three, and fell on his arse

“He looks a bit red” one kind punter said

“Take no notice” said someone, “he’s joking”

“Stop larking about and get the fuck out!

Oh bollocks, he’s actually choking”

“Call for the Doc!”  “But he called me a cock”

“Well call for the nurse then!”  “She’s pissed”

There was nobody there who had much of a care

There were only the folk he had dissed

A bloke at the bar, who’d been quiet so far

Who had hoped to escape any drama

Had listened to Cheese, with his bile and sleaze

And had pondered the workings of karma

Understated but cool, the bloke jumped off his stool

Someone whispered “A nice little mover”

He grabbed hold of Cheese and with confident ease

Did a swift nifty Heimlich’s Manoeuvre

A grunt and a shout and the humbug shot out

Made a ring like a bell on the bar

“I’m guessing that’s time then” our Mortimer said

“I’d best get me coat then, ta-ra”

…

As he swayed up the street he heard following feet

And a voice that was eager to please

The girl from the pub, who was stripey and sweet

“Bar Humbug” sneered Mortimer Cheese

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by Gail

Back Seat Joker

In which I am no better than the sweary kid on the number 33…

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Effing this, and jeffing that

Another bus, another tw*t

Impressing peers with his wit

Sort of.  Slightly.  Just a bit.

Drop the ‘c’ bomb, hey why not

Girls will think you’re really hot

Louder, lad, we want to hear

About the weed and drugs and beer

You smoke and deal and snort and sup

How you get high and then throw up

That college bores you to a yawn

That bigger breasts make better porn

Ooh, a word that rhymes with tank

Have we got Tourette’s to thank

For the verbal diarrhoea

You pour in to our captive ear

Or are you, sunshine, simply rude

Insecure, pathetic, lewd

Wow, a word that rhymes with sock

Shouted loud to cause a shock

Tits and fanny, bell end, bum

Words you wouldn’t say to Mum

What makes you think we want to know

That so and so is just a ho

That your best mate’s a massive tool

It’s just like being back at school

There’s no escape, we’re on the bus

We’ve got to listen to you cuss

All the way to flippin’ town

Please lad, turn the volume down

Before I stand and loud recite

This rhyme I felt compelled to write

Inspired by the irritation

Caused by your inane oration

The bus is crawling up Dunkirk

My poem will keep, you’re just a jerk

Ah, the joys of middle age

Intolerance, indignant rage

Imagine if I’d read the verse

I’d have been like you but worse

So not the time or place for it

Back seat joker, talking sh*t

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by Gail

Doorway Dogs

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 Winter is coming, there’s frost on the ground

It’s hard being homeless when you’re a hound

Cold tongues and noses, wet coats and feet

Are par for the course for a dog on the street

Furry surfers of sofas and seekers of sheds

Who dream of warm fires and comfortable beds

Who can’t go to the Council or bid for a flat

Who have to rely on a human for that

All that waiting outside; all that watching of doors

All that catching a wink on unsuitable floors

Living a life dodging different dangers

Living on luck and the kindness of strangers

It’s a dog’s life alright, and for humans as hard

It’s no good in the hood when you ain’t got a yard

But there’s rumours afoot in the Chippenham air

Re: temporary housing and bed space to spare

Tales are wagging and shaggy dogs telling

The news that they sense on the air they are smelling

They go down to Doorway and find out it’s true

“Hey doggies, we’ve got comfy kennels for you!”

One has a sniff and the other a lick

And one gives the new pop up kennels some stick

One crawls inside and another freaks out

“What on earth,” say the dogs, “is the tent thing about?

It’s hard to assimilate cultural change

The kennels, let’s face it, are awfully strange

But the humans look happy and that’s pretty neat

Always a good thing to keep humans sweet

And it’s really quite nice of them, thinking of us

Best use the things so they don’t make a fuss

Just crawl in and smile “Hey, this is quite cool!”

“Speak for yourself, mate, I feel like a tool”

“But it’s warmer in here, so maybe chill out?”

“Less of the ‘chill’, it’s the heat I’m about”

So went the debate, it was fairly immense

Till all dogs agreed that some stuff was intense

That the kennels were handy and kept out the cold

And that humans are weird and like, comedy gold

They were really quite glad that the kennels had popped up

That their core body temperatures had been topped up

And that folk gave them snacks and stuff for their dinner

Yep, the whole kennel thing was an actual winner

But lunchtime passed quickly and soon it was gone

It was time for the dogs to pack up and crack on

With doggy bags sorted they left with their folk

And went hunting for dog ends to roll up and smoke

Oh, housing’s a nightmare and tricky to handle

A difficult issue, an absolute scandal

But on Mondays and Thursdays the doggies can glamp

Pop up to the drop in and hang out and camp…

…

In between times the Doorway staff find with a frown

That what can pop up does not always pop down

The kennels are springy and just won’t play ball

And no-one can pack up the bu**ers at all

Goodness knows where they can stash ‘em or stick ‘em

Not one of them knows how to fold up and lick ‘em

It’s like playing Twister, such weird convolutions

Like trying to find flippin’ housing solutions

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by Gail

 

 

Two small rhymes for Halloween

 

Ghost Cat

If the tales of the white cat are true

He had feathers; a ghost cat who flew

Through the shimmering streams

Of the moon’s silver beams

Leaving slain doves in the dew

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Wobbly Halloween

Don’t come trick or treating down here

We spent all our money on beer

Don’t knock at our door

‘Cos we’re scary and poor

Lend us a tenner for gear

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by Gail

 

Gnawing Resentment

Some folk never let it lie…

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He gnawed on his resentment

In public and alone

Like a dog he kept on worrying

The marrow from the bone

Till he gave himself an ulcer

Till his teeth got small and stumpy

Till other dogs said, Hang on, Fang

You’re starting to look grumpy

He wouldn’t leave the thing alone

Just wouldn’t let it lie

Time to put the bone down, Fido

Go on, try

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by Gail

Cyber W*nk

The following rhyme contains sexual references

It was written in response to a provocative post in an online writers’ group 

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You took a break from masturbation
To indulge in provocation
Badly judged, son, what bad luck
For most of us don’t give a f*ck
Now that you’ve expressed your issues
Best clean up with man sized tissues
We’re writers, kid, we’re hard as nails
Pointless posts and epic fails
Provide our mills with grist to write
For we make gold dust out of sh*te
So thanks for your ejaculate
If you were hoping for some hate
You’ll get some now, so good for you
You’ll get some love and humour too
And feedback and some cyber hugging

…

Have you logged off now?
Bet you’re tugging…

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by Gail

What’s the crack with rugby?

Rugby

for Ian Diddams, and my Dad

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So what’s the crack with rugby?

My father used to play

He’d come home with an injury

Every other day

My mother used to worry

He was quite deaf to her fears

Her futile protestations fell

On cauliflower ears

Oh so many broken bones

As trophies he would wear

Those would be the only times

I heard my mother swear

My father didn’t drink much

He didn’t do the pub

But he’d sink some with the other lads

In the rugby club

He had a book of rugby songs

Some of them were crude

Dinah, Dinah, show us yer leg

And other ones more rude

A weird way to learn about

Sex and funny stuff

Sex ed in the seventies

Was really pretty rough

Now I watch a rugby game

And find the blokes quite hot

Got to love a massive thigh

And firmly muscled bott

Oh how they thunder up the pitch

And grunt and sweat and shout

Got to love testosterone

It’s what it’s all about

Never mind the odd shaped ball

Shape doesn’t make me frown

It’s how they chuck the thing that counts

And how they smack it down

The scrum’s a thing to marvel at

A tad homo erotic

What if someone breaks their neck

Not sport for the neurotic

And then there is the line dancing

And shouting things in code

Like massive noisy warriors

With faces streaked with woad

Not partial to the gumshields

I suppose they save the grief

Of ruining a toothpaste smile

And choking on the teeth

The thing I don’t quite understand

Is how they pass the ball

What’s the crack with backwards?

I don’t get that at all

I’m a girl who loves a tryer

It’s hardly a perversion

It just don’t get more exciting

Than a finely placed conversion

Snorting mist like horses

Hot blokes running free

Imagine the baths afterwards

Oh it’s all too much for me

I have memories of autumn

Fields all churned up with mud

My Dad and Son played rugby

There’s some rugby in my blood

So, here’s my final word on this

Rugby’s hot, but makes me sad

For when I think of rugby

It reminds me of my Dad

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Love you, Dad

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 by Gail

Geek Magician

Geek Magician

for the kid at Currys in Swindon, and for Charlie Higgs

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Techy kid, techy kid

I just don’t get what you just did

I did the alt delete thing, then

I switched it off and on again

Left it alone and walked away

Had coffee and knelt down to pray

Asked nicely through my tears with love

And then repeated the above

Then went to bed and slept on it

And woke to find it still was sh*t

Where coloured lights and words had been

Just me, reflected in the screen

No choice then but to get the bus

And beg for help, with tears and fuss

You were unassuming, cool

You watched me weep a salty pool

And kindly smiled and flicked a switch

Reducing trauma to a glitch

With just a single finger press

You saved a damsel from distress

And then you gave me good advice

Your patience was refreshing, nice

I just don’t get what you just did

Or where you have your powers hid

Kids like you I shunned at school

I thought you boring and uncool

Being on the internet all day

Not going out to drink and play

Not trying to be hard or hot

Not caring if you are or not

But you, my friend, have kindly eyes

And keep your wisdom for the wise

You just don’t need to make a show

Still waters deep with quiet flow

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Techy kid, techy kid

I’m so impressed with what you did

Kind scientist and statistician

Spelling logic geek magician

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by Gail

Choosing Choice

dreamland knickers

The Devizes Neighbourhood Plan referendum

at the Town Hall on Thursday 17th September

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My alarm clock shouts at me with noisy voice

“Wake up!  It’s Thursday and you have a choice!”

Of what to have for breakfast, eggs or bran

And of voting or not voting on the Plan

I’m not that sure quite what it’s all about

Perhaps I’ll go online and check it out

The library know their stuff, they’re pretty fair

Could ask at the Town Hall, there’s people there

That funny poet woman says “Vote Yes”

Or otherwise the town will be a mess

Without a Plan we just won’t have a clue

Of what outside developers will do

But other folk are saying “No! Vote No!”

I’m so confused about which way to go

If I don’t vote I haven’t had a say

It’s only a few moments from my day

I’m going to go to town now and the Market

Could take the car but it’s a job to park it

Might take my bike or simply take a walk

And wander round and meet some friends and talk

I wonder what they think, I’ll ask their views

They might, like me, be wondering what to choose

Meat from the butchers, or some humble spam

Or whether to have a quick one in The Lamb

I’ve chosen breakfast eggs, I’m on a roll

I’m going to town, I’m going to simply stroll

I’m going to look at options and take note

I’m choosing choice and I am going to vote

If stuff goes wrong I’ve got till ten o’clock

The day is long, I’m on it (where’s that sock?)

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by Gail