Incoming!

Whenever an aeroplane full of excited holiday makers flies over my house, I get this horrible feeling that it’s about to explode in mid-air and crash. Then I cross my fingers and pray that the mangled scorched wreckage and its cargo of burning passengers doesn’t smash right through my living room window.

 

Just finished decorating, see.

 

Twelve pounds fifty a roll that bloody wallpaper cost me!

 

...Also, isn't it absolutely staggering how they make aeroplanes fly in the first place. Hundreds of tons of metal, rubber and plastic and somehow they get these huge, wonderful machines, up into the sky and keep them there for hours and hours and hours. Amazing!

 

It’s even more amazing (not to mention spectacular) when one crashes, putting the kibosh on all the gay cabin staff, the makeup-caked trolley dollies and eight dozen screaming passengers. I bet the pilot doesn’t get a reference after that.

 

Of course a life jacket under the seat is a waste of bleedin' time! Don’t talk black boxes!

 

 

 

I'll leave you with this tip. When flying anywhere, always sit right at the back of the plane.

 

Never yet heard of one that "reversed" into a mountain. 

 

 

 

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.

 

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

 

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again. Mainly because the evil swines had galloped back and forth over him several times, trampling his broken shell-like body into the mud to make sure he was properly dead.

 

And they were laughing.

Bunny in a Matchbox

I wish I had a fluffy little bunny with huge blue eyes and floppy ears. Then I could hurl it at a brick wall, scientifically proving once and for all that “cute” does not bounce.

 

Millions of Vietnamese guinea pigs have found their way onto dinner plates using that exact methodology, which is where I got the idea from.

 

Next on my research schedule is to disprove the statement “as safe as houses”.

 

The petrol and matches are ready to go.

 

I’d be out if I were you.

 

 

 

...On an unrelated matter, I think the company that make Matchbox Cars should be done under the Trade Descriptions Act (1968). I put my replica e-type jag in the road and let three double-decker buses and an ice cream van run over it and it still wouldn’t fit in a matchbox. It was too wide!

 

Deliberately mislead us with false advertising. That's what they do. Fraudsters.

Easy Peasy

I can rhyme quite easily, age on age

Filling up each long blank page

Spouting words with little meaning

A fault for which I have a leaning
 

Because I’m here you keep on reading

When mercy is what your heart is pleading

And though I have a kindly heart

You must finish all before we part
 

Ever had a dream where you can’t escape

The victim of murder, robbery, or rape

Chased by monsters and can’t get away

Well, you’re in one now, even though it’s day
 

The poet spins in darkened grave

Niceties’ eternal slave

This tosh insults his metered ear

But he’s down there, while I’m up here
 

So let him keep his clever wits

While I write on of bums and tits

Being worthy ain’t my gig

Which rhymes, of course, with pig or prig
 

Everything I write will match

Day and night, but here’s the catch

Is my poetry worth a light

Or is it just a bag of shite
 

I sod about with words and rhymes

A thousand, thousand, thousand times

Sausage-like I’ll string my words

Writing of plums, whey and curds
 

I must stop now to my great sorrow

But I’ll be back upon the morrow

Filling paper white or blue

With, yes, a great big heap of poo

 

 

 

 

Bonkers in the Nut

Can you really become insane, if worried that may be the case
Surely you can’t go loop the loop with such a solid base

Can you get to crazy town if you think you are on the train
Surely insanity would soon remove such insight from your brain

 

Can the loony gene creep up on you if standing vigilant guard
Could it slip past all defences, or would that be just too hard

Can a complete and utter basket case be aware of his mad condition
Or is a loosened screw too tiny to spot, even with perfect vision

 

Can you be bonkers in the nut, but sane enough to feel it creeping
Or does madness take its hold when the brain’s switched off and sleeping

Can you really be a crazy person if you know you’re acting weird
Guess I’ll just have to question the magic creatures in my beard