Monday, 28 February 2011

The Beast of Bogrims Marsh.

   When Archie Fox awoke the morning after a night of drinking with his pals he wondered why his head ached so much as he had not drunk anymore than normal. His scalp felt as though it had shrunk around his skull and the latter was trying to break out. He managed to drag himself  up and sit on the edge  of his bed where he stared into space.
 Billy, his large mix breed dog. stood up from his bed in the corner of the bedroom, stretched his long limbs, arched his back, flexed his well sprung chest, shook his massive flanks, wagged his long ratlike tail, strolled over to his master and placed his massive paw on Archie's knee, he gazed into Archie's eyes with a look of adoration in his own blue left eye and brown right eye; he had more breeds in him then Battersby Dogs Home. Archie twiddled the dogs pendant ear- the other one stood erect like a German Shepherd dogs- as he stared through glazed eyes at the photo of his late wife. 'I wish you were still here,' he mumbled to the photo; something he often did since Milly his wife died, Archie was no different to most grieving people, he believed that she could hear him; at least he wished she could.
 He hauled himself up from the bed, followed by Billy; who he let out for his morning pee before staggering into his bathroom to relieve himself.
 He shuffled into his living room and flopped down on the sofa, supporting his head in his hands. He felt too ill to bother that Billy was making an almighty racket in the back garden, Archie had built a strong fence between his own bungalow and his spinster sister neighbours. Billy had made a nuisance of himself by chasing their Pink poodle and Chihuahua dogs around for the fun of it. The Poodle had ventured too closely to a dip in the ground beneath the fence and waggled its pompom temptingly in front of Billy's nose as the poodle snapped and yapped at the fence.
  Lilly and Fanny Thompson's wizened little pointy faces peered over the fence to see what all the hullabaloo was about. 'Archie, are you there? your beastly dog is tearing Priscilla's hat!' Fanny shouted. Archie did not appear. 'His doors open,; maybe he's gone out front?' Lilly said.
  Archie's headache had worsened and his face felt numb. He tried to shout to Billy but he could not control his tongue. He wanted to grasp the arm of the sofa in order to pull himself up, but his hands would not work. Lights flashed and danced before his eyes, he slumped forwards and then sidewards across the sofa, he tried to shout to anyone within hearing range but his words came out as slurring gibberish; though no one was within hearing range.
 The sisters were now peering through his bay window at the front of his bungalow with their bony little hands cupped around their elfin faces. 'Archibald!' they shouted in unison as they spotted the distorting body of their neighbour slipping from the sofa and down onto the floor.
  The sisters dare not enter through the back gate as Billy was now running around and growling as he played with the pompom trophy that he had torn from Priscilla's hat and Lucy the pug had joined her friend at the fence, adding her shrill bark to that of her fellow model; as that is what the dogs were to the sisters who had a thriving cottage industry going. They made clothes for dogs and sold them around the world as well as in the UK.
 The Sisters scurried back to their own home took their little treasures back into the safety of the house, away from the terrible hound next door and called the ambulance and the police. It was a long phone call as they could not make themselves heard above the shrill yaps of the dogs, to say that they were disgruntled at the uncouth hound destroying one of their hats would be an understatement. So the sisters shut them up in the walk in dog wardrobe in the pampered pooches room where their yapping cries were more muffled.

 Constable Petit of the dog section calmed Billy down in the back garden and came back into the house to talk to the sisters whist the para medics attended to Archie.
'He will have to go to the re-homing kennels,' said Constable Petit.
'Oh no he won't, what if Archibald recovers, and comes home to an empty house; Billy is the only company that he has,' Lilly said, 'We'll look after him until he is back home.' Her words startled Fanny, 'We can't have the brute in our house the girlie's won't like it.'
'We don't have to take him in our house we can feed him here...'
'And what about walking him? You know as well as I do that Archie takes him for miles and lets him catch those dear little bunnies; you take a look in his freezer officer, they are serial animal murderers.'
'I think the man has enough problems madam without me arresting him...'
Lilly interrupted him, 'Oh, Fanny Mummy and Daddy named you correctly; you do fanny around. I have a plan. Would you excuse us officer I need to speak to my sister in private.'
'Don't you be so crude Lillian, if Mummy could hear you she would lock you in your room for a week.'
'Oh shut up mummies no longer here!' Lily said, as she ushered her sister out into the front garden.
 Billy paraded up and down in the back, knocking  Archie's widow boxes down as he scratched at them in an attempt to get to his friend through the window.  


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Sunday, 13 February 2011

The Fall Of A Spy from the Sky.

He was a Spy; I don't know why, because it was all hush, hush.
He had to sneak around and look; but never, ever rush.
If he rushed he'd not have seen what he had to look at.
So he sneaked around on tippy toes and earned the name the cat.

He was cool, he was flash, in smart suits he cut a dash.
He got the girls and drank the drink; usually shook, not stirred.
His reputation went ahead of him so he attracted every bird.

I tell you all this in past tense, because he came a cropper.
whilst out spying from the air he fell out of the chopper.

Dads' Rap pack

Come on Dads' now here's the chance,
 join in with Dads' Rap Pack Dance.
Wave your hands up in the air;
 Kids embarrassed? You don't care.

Jump around on spindly legs,
the blood will rush to those old pegs.
Do a roll, you know you can,
spin on the floor like a fresh air fan.

The Mother Rap Packers follow on,
fans of Walter, Fred & John.
Wear your flat cap back to front,
Your on the dancing partner hunt.

Now we've all got on the floor,
youngsters making for the door.
we don't care were having fun,
We are Dads' Rap Packers son.

The pubs all ours now kids gone,
we'll have an old fashioned singalong.
Move you arms like a choo-choo train,
back to your childhood again.

Grab a partner, swing her round,
grab another when she falls to the ground.
Let your daft out, no one cares,
It's cos you have had had many beers.

Had a good Night? I think so,
in the morning you'll be feeling low.
head is banging, embarrassed too,
it all floods back as you sit on the loo.

Lets Rap, Pack?  ENIT!

Wednesday, 9 February 2011

The Lib Cons, Dem Crap... Rap.

The government are not being fare,
They make tuition much too dare,
They want it like the bad old times...
F**k I can't think of owt that rhymes.
Dem Lib Cons? they is crap.
Lets Rap!
Rich dudes is so up all dem selves,
they want us all filling their shop shelves.
Whilst they go to Uni and row boats
and walk around in dem blazer coats
Al that shit do my head in
I on the street aint that a sin?
We go down whilst they go up,
we sit around with our begging cup.
Only shelter I got is Hood...
Not good.
 EN-IT!

The Pensioners Rap for Dad Dancers.

I'm going to have a shout at rap,
close this yawning generation gap.
I'm 70 and  up for it.
lets have a go,
Yo!
we'll strut our stuff in the hood,
that's good.
We have our soul,
 and rock and roll
Now live in this time, talk in rhyme,
lets have a go; Yo!
We all have our point of view,
Now it's their time give them their due,
let go, Yo!
Come on you Dads, here's your chance
strut your stuff take a stance shout at the pensioners rapping dance ...
EN-IT!

Saturday, 5 February 2011

Acid Sid's Last Gasp.

Acid Sid was of disrepute.
He sold drugs to kids in a snazzy suit.
His pockmarked face was in a snarl
as he walked round with his mate Carl.

I put Carl in so that it would rhyme
but it was Sid alone who did the crime.
I chased him off; how he did cough.
He ran until his lungs gave out,
plus, he suffered terribly with chronic gout.

I said, "now look what drugs have done,"
he said, "I'll shoot you with my gun."
The bullet whistled past my head
and hit his mate Carl, who fell down; dead.

I felt guilty of a crime,
I'd introduced Carl to make it rhyme.
Acid Sid said, "I've another bullet."
He touched the trigger,but he didn't pull it.

His acidic lungs gave up on him,
His eyes rolled up, all glazed and dim.
The pain ebbed out of his gout riddled feet,
as he went to hell to face the heat.

The Downfall of a Food Critic

There was a food critic who criticised food.
His remarks about it were very rude,
He criticised here, he criticised there,
he even criticised the restaurants beer.
He would not drink and he would not eat.
Then one day in a restaurant he fell off his seat.
The Doctor declared, "he's critically ill,
Through picking at food and not getting his fill."
Now the critic was critical; a bit of a prat,
his limbs were no fatter than those of a gnat.
The Restaurant Chef said, "it served him right,
he came in earlier and criticised all night."
They took him to hospital and tucked him in bed,
and by the next morning he was critically dead.

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