We had a cat

it killed a rat

laid it on the fireside mat.
where it sat.
What about that?

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7 of my comedy rhymes

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 Our parrot. Once we had a parrot,  who wasn't very pleasant,  he escaped from our window,  and raped a passing pheasant. Harold's Wayside Drink. Twas a stormy winter night, the back end of the year, Harold came across a wayside Inn, and went in for a beer. The Landlady was a comely wench with overflowing boobs, The Landlord kept his cellar good and always cleaned his tubes. Harold had one drink and then another one; or two, the seat was comfortable, the company good, so he drank another few. The fire blazed in the grate, the welcome was also warm. Whilst outside the cold wind blew, and kicked up a mighty storm. Although Harold was a married man, he liked a pint of beer, he imagined he was a youth again, without family; or a care. He gave the buxom Landlady more attention than he should, the beer was talking for him, he was in a confident mood. The Landlord was a large man, but Harold didn't care, The ale was in, the w...
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Hip-Hop Rabbit Finds Fame.

Hip-Hop Rabbit hops all around, and lives in his home deep down in the ground. one day whilst out munching a root, he heard a loud noise and decided to scoot. He hid in a thorn bush and heard a boys voice say, 'I love Rock and Roll, it's Hip, it's my choice. Slung over his shoulder was a shiny guitar' on which he twanged out a tune and sang, 'Lar, lar, lar.' Hip-Hop thought, "What a wonderful sound." He tapped his foot to the tune; on the ground. Thumpitty thump, 'lar, lar, lar, lar. I'm the most hip rabbit around here by far. He sang and he danced all the way home, and came across Norman the Gnome. 'Crikey!,' said Norman, 'what an unusual habit, that's the first time I've seen a Rock and Roll Rabbit.' Now Hip-Hop performs at Woodlands Hop every night, where the animals dance in the hall, that's packed tight. He has a stage name now that he is a star' It's Swivel-Hip-Hop, the most hip ...
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Here is an excerpt from my book, 'The Beast from Bogrims Marsh.' It available on Kindle humour shelf. Written by John Robin Gill.;

‘What’s going on?’  Charlie asked.  He startled Pricilla out of her daydream, where she imagined entertaining her new socially conscious friends in her newly acquired home.  Her mug holding hand shot up in a reflex action, she spluttered and choked with tears in her eyes as the tea went down both channels of her gullet; the words Oh fuck crossed her mind.  She sprang up from the armchair. ‘Oh, my god poor Archibald whatever could be the matter with him?  He fell off the sofa…’ she paused; what else could she say?  She could not think of anything, ‘oh my god,’ she wailed, ‘oh my god!’ she repeated, for the want of something else to say.  She threw her arms in the air in mock angst.  She ran around the room screaming and wailing hysterically.  Alcol thought that she was howling in triumph at killing his master. ‘Archibald has had some sort of seizure,’ Pricilla screeched, ‘he just fell from the sofa, what are we going to do.  I thi...
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