Other worlds 2

There was a time when my mobile phone was only used for making phone calls. The phone call function now seems to be an optional extra. It’s now basically my camera, runs the house and sons Pokemon world generator….

As the great Terry Pratchett once said

Always be wary of any helpful item which weighs less than it’s operating manual.

As ever Terry in his hilarious fantasy worlds got life better than many so called modern philosophers. And while we let that thought hang in the air, let’s move onto the last Thursday challenge for a while. Yes people you will be safe from my terrible poetry for a number of months. But as Terry P also aptly pointed out

It’s not worth doing something unless you were doing something that someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren’t doing.

So it’s time for Chelsea Owens last challenge for a few months and my poetry….. Chelsea is taking a much earned blogging break over the Summer. This week’s challenge is about writing your very worst poem possible. Bonus points for squeezing in Douglas Adams like Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy references. Truly awful poems need to forwarded to Chelsea by 8.00am MDT on the 29th. As a Yorkshire lad I have no idea what MDT meansbut it does sound kinda cool. Maybe something like Mindless Donald Tweets.

This poem might not mean too much if you have never read the great Douglas Adams books or have not had to endure the UK governments truly disgraceful lies (on a different scale over the last few days). To cut a long story short our PM is not in charge. That honour goes to a bloke called Cummings who is unelected but seems to have plenty of dirt on enough people to make him important. The country followed strict lockdown rules with the police taking action action rule breakers. We were told the rules were not requests, they were mandatory instructions. Stay at home or people will die. Senior People have been forced to resign for breaking them. Well apparently the rules didn’t apply to Cummings. He travelled 250 miles from his home to his parents (also a no no). This was when he and his wife had symptoms. Let’s just hope they didn’t need fuel…. He then decided to apparently test his eyesight by driving his wife on her birthday and with young son and dogs in the back of the car, 60 miles to a tourist site (Barnard Castle). Now this has been discovered the public are what is the phrase I’m looking for – pissed off. But now the government is saying that Cummings acted as any parent should do. So absolutely no action should be taken against him. In fact he’s a great citizen and parent according to Hancock (Health Minister). Basically all the parents who stayed at home and followed the lockdown instructions were stupid mugs.

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Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

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*** This is version two. The cleaned up version. It’s amazing what words you can find to rhyme with words like luck, fit and flanker…. ***

Survival

These are real survival plants. Will grow anywhere. It’s found on the paths, driveways, curb sides and stone surfaces.

Dad have you noticed how often on the survival programmes like Bear Grylls, they frequently have clean clothes on after a night in the tent or sleeping out in a forest. The hair is perfectly combed and they don’t look like they have had the best sleep ever. Even though the camp is flooded. You can’t even look like that sleeping in your own bed.”

He’s right as usual. I seem to have moved from just needing a little touching up around the face in the morning to a full cement mixer and construction team.

It’s as if they had not bothered with the tent and gone for a good nights sleep at the local hotel.”

Well funny you should say that and Bear. To be fair to Bear, I bet all the survival TV personalities do that. Finish filming, erect a shelter then bugger off to the nearest hotel. Actually it’s an excellent survival strategy. Save the tent for when you really have to use it.

I remember climbing in Torridon (Scotland) with a friend. We got caught out in a dreadful snow storm. We managed to get off the mountain but were completely lost. The blizzard got seriously bad as night fell. Couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us. We found a level spot and pitched an emergency shelter. We spent a cold, damp and very hungry night in that cramped hell hole. When we woke the next day we found a blue sky winter wonderland. We also found that we had camped in a field only 40 yards from a hotel, bar and restaurant. Drat …. So Bear if you want to sleep in a hotel, well go for it fella.

So while we are on the subject of survival skills…..

It’s Thursday so it’s time for our weekly bit of fun. Wow this blog certainly needs that. So let’s have a little dabble with Chelsea Owens and her weekly hilarity challenge (sorry, not sure that came out sounding entirely decent). This week the challenge is

“Your writing prompt?

  • “…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.”
  • Use it or be inspired by it to write a funny SHORT story.
  • Please keep your response to 200 words or fewer.
  • Remember: make me laugh. I can’t see how you’d go this route, but please also keep things clean.”

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 22) to enter at Chelsea’s blog

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood

Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap

The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife

Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife

Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants

Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants

Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night

Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

Birds

Every single day we have two pigeons who plonk themselves on the back garden fence. It starts off all very civilised then after a few minutes, it all kicks off. Gets a little bit racy.

I like to think of it as two Pigeons practising for their WWE wrestling trials. Clearly what we are seeing is a spectacular flying elbow seamlessly transitioning into a deadly Coup de Grace finisher. Apparently son is not convinced. He is picking up the courage to explain the birds and the bees to me.

After an all too short wrestling match (or something else) the two move apart and refuse to talk to each other. So like life really……

So last week it was the last Terrible Poetry contest. To much celebrations it looked like I had hung up my poetry pants for good. Well….

This weeks sees Chelsea replace her old contest with The Weekly Hilarity Contest. This week the rules are

  • Write a short story, poem, song, or really long sentence about Birds.
  • Don’t make it too long. We’ve got real life to get back to.
  • The goal is to make me, the judge LAUGH ALOUD. Whoever tickles my funny bone the best will be crowned champion.
  • As a tip, I generally think and live in a G-rated world. I don’t find crude or profane things very humorous.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 8) to let Chelsea have your entry.

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So my poetry retirement lasted 6 days. Sorry to disappoint everyone. Unusually this poem is not aimed at Boris Johnson. However as Boris is a massive BIRD brain, I did find a way to get a little abuse hurled at him – points will be awarded to the first person to find it in this hopefully truly appalling poem. See Terrible Poetry still lives………

Blimey what are those birds doing

Oh it’s such seedy x-rated viewing

Really, on our back garden fence as well

Is it not behaviour best saved for a seedy motel

Surely they are spoiling our gorgeous farmland view

Interrupting our peaceful world with something so taboo

Spending every day exchanging birdie pleasantries

Always trying to make so many more feathered babies

Fooling around as if there is no tomorrow

Oh having such fun and never showing any sorrow

One overriding thought about those feathered huggers

Lashings of rummy pumpy, those lucky little buggers

My excuse is that we don’t use a G rating in the UK. So I assume that G means Generally any word is Good to use.

Goodbye

Well it’s almost time to say goodbye to April. Well that was a different type of month. I still can’t believe 2020 has only been going for 4 months. Feels an awful lot longer than that.

Sadly it’s time to say goodbye to a regular friend. This week is the last Terrible Poetry challenge hosted by Chelsea Owen. Thank you Chelsea for the fun. The last challenge is as follows

  1. Topic: A bittersweet farewell to something completely ridiculous.
  2. Length: You choose.
  3. Rhyming: For old time’s sake, rhyme in the worst possible places.
  4. Make it terrible!
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (May 1) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

So here goes with maybe the last bit of poetry on this blog. Let’s make it truly awful. There has been a fairly common theme in many of my terrible poems – someone called Boris. As he is completely ridiculous then let’s finish with him.

Oh Boris isn’t it time you went away

Surely it’s time for another holiday

Its only a few months since your last Caribbean jolly

How you must miss drinking all that expensive bolly

Your country is deep in crisis and finds itself in such a terrible mess

So many mistakes and lapses of judgement, yet you find it impossible to confess

It’s always someone else’s fault and never your own

You haven’t managed this pandemic preferring to blame the Eurozone

You don’t listen to reason, facts are just ignored

But you do listen to Cummings, Britains very own evil Sith Lord

You only had one aim and that was hard Brexit

Your getting your way leaving us deep in the shit

Because of your privileged upbringing you are entitled to rule

You lead by example, bluffing and acting the fool

You like all the trappings which goes with being the top man

Sadly hard work and emergency meetings is not part of your plan

So for the good of your country please take your leave

Go back to your mansion, don’t worry we won’t grieve

So I long for the day when you pack your bags and wish No10 a fond farewell

Go back to your lovely life, do nothing and watch your bank account swell.

Usefulness

Surprised these are not vultures today

It’s been one of those days. You wake up as a zombie with one mission – to create havoc. The alarm went and as I swung out of bed I managed to send a glass of water hurtling towards the wall like an Exocet missile. I dried the wall, picked up the glass pieces and applied the plasters to my fingers. Then it was time for my pre school day workout. For some mad idea I decided to opt for single arm press-ups. Who do I think I am, The Rock. Clearly I forgot I am a middle aged chump. Although I managed a few reps, the problems came later. My arms clearly were not impressed. Now the shakes make drinking from a cup a real challenge. Today I’m just accepting that I have a permanent have you just wet yourself look.

Then as Son was doing his history lesson I decided to garden. First I tried to trim back a tree branch that is growing unerringly towards the overhead telephone cable. I should have been more concerned with the chainsaw power cable. Within seconds I had a power lead in two pieces and a out of action chainsaw. Let’s try something less dangerous. Let’s plant some seeds. Start with the flowers then plant some vegetables. I did a wonderful job with the hanging baskets. Carefully filled with seeds. So I moved onto the soil patch that I had carefully prepared for the vegetables. Why have I still got all the unopened flower seeds and can’t find the carrot seeds. Yep I’m going to have some beautiful hanging baskets with glorious displays of carrots. Well that went well.

Lunch went well. First of all I decided to pour tomato soup onto the carpet. I then tried to grate some cheese, unfortunately the plastic wrapper got involved, so bits of plastic got shredded as well. Wonder if that qualifies me for a Michelin star.

Finally I set the washing machine off on a daily wash cycle without actually loading much in. When I say much that means one pair of socks. All other items remained in the washing basket sat in front of said machine. Deep sigh. So basically today I have been useless. Having said that I have been doing this for years. It’s scary that it’s taken millions of years of evolutionary progress to get to me. Wow.

So now it’s time for some terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly terrible poetry challenge. This week the rules are most appropriately

  1. Let’s Topic on a humorous end to a useful object. Irony is encouraged.
  2. The Length is between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended.
  4. Make it terrible! Make me rue the day I ever started a contest based on bad poetry …until the next week’s prompt.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. You can do it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 24) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Well here goes and I can’t think of a better subject here then ME…..

Face it I am a muppet

As useful as badly worn glove puppet

The youthful sporting body is sadly no more

Now this used body constantly needs to visit the drugstore

I just can’t bend over without making a groan

I can only move thanks to heaps of cortisone

Once brimming with dreams of adventure and success

Now I’m wracked with anxieties and filled with stress

Everyday I deliver mistake after mistake

Always sweeping up the stuff I carelessly brake

Increasingly I’m covered in dust

With a bank balance which has gone bust

These days definitely more rounded in the middle

Watching life fly past featuring only as a second fiddle

No more than a terrible poetry bard

Maybe it’s time for me to visit the knackers yard

Terrible Poetry

I was thinking that my recent posts had been a bit too depressing. Maybe a bit too much about that pesky virus. So I thought let’s have a bit of fun with some Terrible Poetry from the wonderful Chelsea Owens’s weekly challenge. I’ve just checked what this weeks theme is – Oops Sorry.

  1. The Topic is a parody of a popular song on the theme of COVID-19. Yep, I’m asking for a Coronavirus song parody.
  2. For Length: No, I’m not expecting every verse and chorus, especially if you do “Bohemian Rhapsody.” A verse or two and a chorus ought to be great.
  3. If the song rhymes, you must rhyme.
  4. This issue is a bit close to home for many of us, so keep the terribleness funny. Please do not be insensitive or over-violent or such.
  5. Rating? PG or G. My kids will want to hear it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (April 17) to submit a poem to Chelsea. *!!ALSO!!* Chelsea’s husband has agreed to sing a recording of the winner’s song.

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So here goes to the theme tune to The Banana Splits……
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
One infected, two infected, three infected, four. 
Four infected make a pandemic and so do many more. 
Over hill and highway the corona buggies go 
Comin’ on to bring you The Corona Up The Shit Creak Show. 

Makin up a mess of life 

Makin up a mess of jobs 
Lot’s of free time for everyone. 

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Four infected, three infected, two infected, one. 

All not allowed to play outside in the bright warm sun. 
Flippin sick of our leaders, poppin like a cork 
Guarding the bog rolls with a Pitch Fork

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Spring

Spring must have arrived as the Rowan Tree has sprung into life.

My partner loved these plants. She thought every garden should have at least one in a prime location. We had a beautiful one next to the front door. Poignantly it died the winter just before our partner left us. It’s taken a few years to grow a replacement but now she would be pleased again.

These days the replacement is in a large pot in the back garden. Now that’s my running is restricted to endless circuits of our little garden the tree forms a helpful obstacle to run round. On my last epic run I rather sadly counted how many times I passed the little tree. 213 times….. Yes I can count that far.

So according to the Rowan Tree and the daffodils it is Spring. Can someone tell the weather. It’s freezing. Even the bird bath is frozen every morning. This means the path is icy. That explains my latest fashion statement. My son looked at me with one of those Paddington Bear stares, shock his head and sighed.

Dad in most cases the human species has been evolving for millions of years. Clearly there are one or two exceptions to that.”

I had just finished my early morning workout and has decided to feed the birds. On my way to the bird table I slipped on the icy pavement. When I say slipped I mean a full ‘arse over tit’ moment. Most of the bird seed, bread crumbs, surplus rice and water landed on my very large head. It was a fetching look especially when it was merged with a white T-shirt and pink compression leggings.

Don’t you bloody love Spring.

While on the subject of Spring let’s seamlessly transition into our weekly fix of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week Chelsea has set the following task

  1. The Topic is Springtime -or Autumntime if you’re South. You can haiku, limerick, free verse, acrostic, tanka, cinquain, sonnet
  2. Length is wholly dependent on the type of poem you write. If you go with an epic ballad, please cut things off before page 54.
  3. Rhyming also depends on your creation.
  4. The goal is to make it terrible. Mother Earth must rise from her seasonal slumber to smack you with an olive branch of peace.
  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 3) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

It’s Springtime in Yorkshire

The Sun is still on vacation

Still waiting for it to be a scorcher

Oh the pigging frustration

The path is covered in ice

And I’ve just landed on my bum

Now I’m wearing last nights rice

And I feel a right dumb dumb

The washing on the line is frozen rock solid

The gale force wind screams over the barren field

The weeds and broken branches makes it look so squalid

The poor garden birds hide in the bushes seeking any decent shield

So Springtime is here which means dust down the garden chair

Now I’m off inside to find my extra thick thermal underwear

Terrible Poetry

****No actual birthdays here warning****

One of the most memorable tips to come out over the last couple of months has been to wash your hands for 20 seconds. To help work out what 20 seconds is – wash while singing Happy Birthday to You. Never sung so many Happy Birthdays.

On the subject of Happy Birthdays it’s time for a bit of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week she has set the following guidelines

  1. The Topic is birthdays. You all don’t know this, but March and April are our second Christmas around here. Even my birthday is this time of year.
    So, as a birthday gift to me, write a horrible parody of the classic song you sing for someone’s birthday.
  2. The Length will depend on the length of the song you honor.
  3. Songs usually rhyme, so I expect your poem will most likely rhyme as well.
  4. It’s my party, so make it terrible ’cause I want you to. You would cry, too, if I sang, “Happy Birthday to you.”
  5. I’ve got children listening! Keep the Rating a G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 27) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday Dear

Happy Birthday to You

How many birthdays you have seen

So many decades since you were a teen

Happy Birthday Dear Has Been

Happy Birthday to me, now sod off and pour me a Jim Beam

**** it’s not my birthday for ages, so this is dedicated to all those of you like me who have entered the ‘have you seen my keys’ age.

Terrible Poetry

It’s time for this weeks bit of panic poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly Terrible Poetry competition.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic: Stockpiling against a worldwide disaster, in limerick form.
  2. Length: A limerick. They’re five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Rhyming: Yes. In AABBA anapestic meter format.
  4. Make it terrible! Got it? Make it terrible!! The world’s ending, after all!
  5. Rating: PG-13. This is the perfect time to panic …poetically.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 20) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

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Shelves stripped bare including the Gluten free

Load your boot with every single last frozen pea

You can keep your 10 year supply of toilet roll

Fill your trolley with all the Chicken casserole

But keep your pigging hands off my Yorkshire Tea

Terrible Poetry

It’s time for a bit of terrible poetry thanks to the wonderful Chelsea Owens and her weekly competition. This week the game is a foot with the following modus operandi…

  1. The Topic is the cute (or ‘cute’) things that kids say. I’ll admit I’m more inspired by the parenthetical version after our dinner conversations lately. What is it with young children (perhaps just with boys) and potty humor? Do they really think meals are the best place to discuss vomit?
  2. We’re talking kids here, so the Length may be quite short (barely learning to talk) or quite long (talks your ear off about Minecraft).
    …Don’t make the judge suffer too much.
  3. Rhyming is optional, or entirely concerned with the word ‘fart.’
  4. It’s likely to not need much help in this department, but try to make it terrible. Make my young children giggle and start chanting lines from your poem whilst pointing at a brother in an insulting way.
  5. Kids sometimes say words they ought not to, but let’s keep the Rating an optimistic G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (the 13th!) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

So here goes with the philosophy of our very own wise one. So many to go for yet so few will rhyme…

‘Apart from his girl like eye lashes, thankfully no sign of dad in me’

‘Of all the festive colours, my muppet Dad bought a black Christmas Tree’

On a packed French TGV ‘why does the food smell of wee’

To someone from Ireland ‘apart from the rain, wind and cold is it like Hawaii’

Shouting ‘he’s got rabies’ to a poor bearded man on a train

To a mum in the playground ‘my dad fancies someone called Shania Twain’

‘Dad it’s rude to say fart you need to call it a bottom burp’

‘My Dad is a muppet, funny but such a twerp’

‘I can’t eat that carrot, it looks like a willy’

‘That looks like sick’ the day school served chilli

To his nursery teacher ‘my dad let’s me watch Frankenstein’

‘My teacher broke a cup and said a funny word, what does FUCK mean’

**** important note ‘my dad let’s me watch Frankenstein’ actually means ‘my dad let’s me watch Scooby Doo which featured Frankenstein’.