It’s time for some poetry . Some Terrible Poetry. This week the wonderful Chelsea Owens has set the following task.
It’s time for some poetry . Some Terrible Poetry. This week the wonderful Chelsea Owens has set the following task.
Is it time for Mad One to go to a hairdresser. I’m only jealous I would love to have that problem these days. It’s not so much Lush Amazonian Rain Forest it’s much more Barren Arctic Tundra.
Dad when was the last time you had to Combe your hair.
I do still Combe. Sometimes. Why?
I was watching a video of famous people who have had a Hair Transplant and I thought of you.
Are you saying I am Famous.
No Dad your certainly not famous. Must have been something else about that video which made me think of you.
I took the car back to the garage as it needed to be checked again. The poor technician took one look at my car and said ‘I better get a pair of gloves’. On his return he added ‘that’s the muddiest car I have seen in a long time’. I suppose that’s a badge of honour but I was filled with a certain amount of embarrassment. He’s right. You can’t actually tell what colour the car is these days. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. I needed to go to the Bank but didn’t want to pay the extortionate parking fees. So I had a clever idea. I will put the bike in the back of the car so I can ride in. So the night before the 2 flat tyres were fixed. Unfortunately today has been wet. Very wet. The Yorkshire roads are muddy. Very muddy. So after my 15 minutes cycle ride I arrived in the city centre looking like the Swamp Monster. The looks I got. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. I walked into the crowded Bank. Well when I say walked in that’s not strictly true. I did try to walk into the Bank but had failed to see the closed glass door. The looks from the hordes in the bank as they turned to see my face planted in the door. Suspect it was not a great look. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. Now finally inside the bank I was stood in the long queue. I had to watch someone from the bank go to the infamous front door and clean the glass. Clearly the muddy impression of my face on the bank’s door was not good for business. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. In the busy supermarket I tried to take a sharp corner at pace. Too much understeer and I crashed into a neatly stacked pile of soup tins. Complete devastation. Tins everywhere. Oh the shame. As I helped the not so impressed shop assistant pick up the tins he pointedly said ‘it took me ages to stack those’. Oh the shame. Eventually I moved away from the crash scene but I kept seeing random tins of soup scattered around the shop. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. I had a couple of work reports to post. Going to be tight it’s a 5 minute walk to the post box and the last collection is in 3 minutes. So I jumped into the car and belted there. Letters posted just in time as the Postman arrived. Unfortunately I also posted my car keys. I had to sheepishly ask the postie if he could search the box for them. ‘That’s the first time I’ve had to do that. The crew back in the Sorting Office won’t believe me when I tell them this‘. Oh the shame.
The shame day continued. As I returned to the house I had a few minutes before the school bus was due. Let’s garden and prune in the pouring rain. Much good work completed. Then son arrived back. Shall we go in before he gets soaked. Hang on. Where are the house keys. After 10 minutes finger tip searching of the soil I remembered. I put them on top of the car tyre so I wouldn’t lose them while gardening. That look from our son. Oh the shame.
These days I’m with Spongebob and Patrick. Any day you manage to get your pants on the right way round is a good day. Everything else has gone wrong today but my pants are facing the right way ….. so it must be a good day. Oh the shame of getting back to front pants. That was yesterday.
It’s time to try and lighten the mood.
Let’s go for a bit of Terrible Poetry hosted by the wonderful Chelsea Owens. This week is the 50th Contest. The rules are
I like Blancmange but it has more than 50 calories
I have 50 really annoying allergies
I only have 50 hairs on my sad old head
Can’t get any sleep on my 50 quid bed
No money so have to be thrifty
Bugger I feel like I am over FIFTY
I had a lovely email from a fine American chap. Thank you so much for taking the time to write personally to me. It was most entertaining – best laugh of the day so far. Unfortunately I didn’t get round to responding to you for some reason. I accidentally deleted your email. I think your a big fan of my blog. I don’t usually get the following gushing complements.
Full of liberal bullshit lies
Keep your dumb motherf****** Limie views to yourself
I think you took great offence at one of my comments about your precious President. I wonder if it was when I compared him to a pumpkin. Or maybe it was calling his precious wall – stupid. Or maybe it was thinking I had seen this hairstyle somewhere before.
So to my American friend I must do another commie post real soon here. Don’t tell anyone but I’ve just done a guest post on another site which I’m sure you will agree with. I think I compared your leader to Nero.
But in the meantime here are a couple of Bernie Sanders quotes I’m sure you will love.
“And let me make the radical statement that I don’t believe that you can say something profound in the 140 characters that make up a tweet”
“You’ve got the top 400 Americans owning more wealth than the bottom 150 million Americans. Most folks do not think that is right.“
It’s that time again for hopefully some downright cheesy terrible Poetry thanks to Chelsea Owens. This week she has set the following challenge.
I got carried away and the first version was an epic unfortunately way beyond 150 words so this is the heavily butchered version 2.
Wandering round the stalls and jammed full car boots
Sellers imploring you to hand over your hard earned loot
In one car boot an autobiography from Donald Trump
Read that, no way rather have a session with a stomach pump
Then a special offer on CDs from U2 and Bono
Give you money for that, you got more chance of seeing a flying Dodo
Then a car boot with a portrait of a politician, Jacob Rees Mogg
I’d rather have my leg humped by a rabid flee ridden Rottweiler Dog
Some numpty called Farage is selling knocked off cheap French red wine
He bought the bottles with loose change from his European Pension goldmine
Then finally a chance to buy the actual Boris Johnson our countries so called leader
I bought him for 10p he’s now planted pretending to be a Japanese ornamental Cedar.
Pets have really worked with our son. They provide so much fun and relaxation to him. Since he lost his mum they brought noise and life into the house again. That’s before we even consider the help they have provided with his Aspergers. Best parenting decision ever to bring them into our house. Not such a great financial decision but fiddle sticks to that.
One day we will get a sensible pet. It certainly isn’t the walking dinner plate which is our boy cat. It most certainly isn’t the mad pup currently outside trying to play hide and seek with the butterflies. The hope was that the three gerbils would bring some much needed sanity to the house. Team Gerbils maybe a super hero team ready to assemble but they are also a unrivalled demolition team.
The first house they had was plastic and lasted minutes. The second house was compacted straw and met a similar fate. We upped the anti for the third house with a construction of wood and wire. It has lasted longer however last night Team Gerbils got to work.
To be fair to them they did stack what was left of the house neatly to one side.
Dad we need to get them a new house don’t want them to get angry. You wouldn’t like them when they are angry.
So it’s wooden house version 2.
Notice that in the time it took me to get my mobile to take a photo Team Gerbils have got stuck into the roof.
If this house fails then it’s a phone call to Tony Stark and it’s time for Ironman Armour.
It’s Terrible Poetry time thanks to Chelsea Owen. This week we need to remember the following school rules
Is it really back to school
In that uniform so uncool
Do I have to Combe my hair
I’m not allowed to rock in my chair
Come again, I have to get up at Half past Six
Then get on the school bus with the other lunatics
Have to eat a healthy school lunch
And in the class I’m not allowed to munch
I have to learn my nine times tables
And I need to write my name on all the coat labels
I’m not allowed to pick my nose
While having to write boring prose
Not allowed to play games of my mobile phone
And if the teacher shouts I’m not allowed to moan
Must not run and play along the school corridors
And no pulling funny faces at the other choristers
When I ask a question I must raise my hand
Even when in Latin it’s impossible to understand
I have to fully button up my school shirt
Always keep the blazer on to hide all the dirt
Not supposed to throw objects at the head-boy
Be nice to your classmates and certainly don’t annoy
On no grounds can I fight or swear
Don’t attack the other kids with the set square
Need to pick my feet up so no scrapping only the floorboards
And certainly I’m not supposed to do rude doodles on the blackboards
I HATE SCHOOL……
To Bee or not to Bee
Time for a bit off Terrible Poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly competition. This weeks it’s a bit of a walk on the Bard side of life.
The Sonnet 73 butchering – Sorry Bill but I did keep a few of your words the same.
That time of year thou decides to do some baking and behold
Knowing the results will be that bad my shame do hang
Upon finding I forgot to turn the oven on and thy food is still cold,
Bare ruined I shall burn all food until the cry PLEASE LORD NO MORE is sang.
In me thou see’st the worst kitchen abominations performed anywhere in the land that day
As after sunset fadeth the Fire Engine arrives to put out the oven fires from the west;
Which by and by blackend food is thrown away,
Death’s icy grip can be seen in the stodgy bread as it refuses to rise as long as it do rest.
In my donuts the taste of vileness and repulsiveness does such fire,
That on the ashes of the badly overcooked Rhubard crumble do lie,
As the death-bed do lyeth anyone who tastes the food with the use by date do expire,
Consum’d is the food not by any sane man but dumped in the bin by any brave passersby.
This thou has bakethed food with a nauseating odour so strong,
To love the simple beauty of a frozen microwave meal I do long.
It’s hot. Yes I’ve said it now. Yes Yorkshire is hot. When I say hot I mean hot for Yorkshire which probably means it’s probably two jumper weather in Arizona.
A grand day for a trip to the zoo.
Clearly the zoo animals had the right idea. Stay in the shade and watch the silly humans walk round in the blazing sun.
Dad can I have a slush.
What a grand idea. Unfortunately the kiosk informed us that they had just switched the slush machine on and if we came back in a couple of hours they should be available. It was a similar story with the ice cream machine. So we purchased from the limited available snack range. Sat in the hot sun with two cider lollies and a bag of just fried hot donuts.
Dad it’s a good job your a professional athlete or you would be getting a Dads Belly.
Clearly a kid with Aspergers don’t have a sense of humour. Come on Hollywood get your facts right.
Dad it’s getting too busy.
And with that we left. But the zoo gave us one last memory. As we were walking out of the main door a delivery driver had arrived and asked a parking supervisor where he was supposed to drop off. He was told “Through those gates. Just unbolt the lock and drive into the compound. Just make sure you lock the gate immediately”. The delivery driver in a slightly alarmed voice asked “Are you sure”.
Visions of Jurassic Park and a driver about to come face to face with a suitably pissed off carnivore came to mind. Clearly the driver had similar thoughts as he made sure he round his van window up before he ventured any further.
It’s that time again to don the terrible poetry cap. Chelsea Owens has set the following criteria for this week.
The PG level rules out my previous trips to Amsterdam, Brussels, Glasgow, Prague, Lille, Oban, Cardiff, Brighton, Dover, Paris, Caen, Strasbourg and most certainly Aberdeen. This week I handed over the poetry/postcard cap over to our son. He asked for a location and I gave him Marseille.
Postcards are redundant
Will email so I can attach photos
With that he hurled the cap back in my general direction. Ok. Here’s my go. I asked son for a location and he helpfully gave me Pluto. Does an airmail stamp cover space?
Arrived in Pluto just 459 years late.
You wouldn’t believe what they are charging on the exchange rate.
Can’t open the hotel windows as the air tends to dissipate
Can eat what I want as the low gravity gives me little weight
The beaches are empty so it feels a little desolate
The trip round the 5 moons was first rate
The nightlife is great at the disco you should see the locals gyrate.
Tomorrow off to one of the poles to ice skate.
I have to own up I did promise to include a theme for someone but just couldn’t fit it in this one – definitely next week. Plus this is version 2. Version 1 finished with the line copulate….