Monthly Archives: April 2018

Why arming teachers might not be the best idea in the world. Not all of ’em are geniuses.

A Simpletons Mistake.

A teacher at Stoneman Douglas High School
Felt the call of Nature something cruel;
If experience has taught Sean anything at all
It’s not to try to forestall Natures call.

The Glock 9mm he’d bought to protect himself
He laid, Safety off, safely on a handy shelf,
And once his ruminations were done
He left with much relief but sans his gun.

There may well be need to vacate the latrine,
For Sean to speedily, as it were, vacate the scene;
But for the benefit of the next occupants peace of mind
Please, Mr Simpson- doh!- don’t leave your piece behind.

A sporting great moves on to that great big dressing shed in the sky. ‘Bye, Ferg.

Red And Black And Blue.

Fergie McCormick was hard as nails, tough as teak,
What carnage on the rugby field he would wreak,
Yet he had a charitable as well as a rambunctious streak,
There would always be
A card of sympathy
When you woke up sometime well into next week.

Time moves on, we move from place to place, lose track of people who matter. Always, you think ‘we’ll meet up again, in time.’ Then, one day, up on the screen pops a casual post, and off we go, into the blue… No humour today.


My old school pal Robin has gone, God knows where,
He’s been gone ever so long, and I never knew,
The longer I live, the less this life seems fair,
And its too late to say ‘Robin, its been good to know you.’

Its the poor wot gets the blame, and not much else. The trickle-down effect at work, if that’s not a misnomer. Just desserts indeed.

From The Boardroom Table.

Thanks for your two percent, which I’ll gladly take,
Your two bits worth I cannot afford to forsake,
A crumb of comfort rather than a slice of the rich cake,
This grateful fulsome smile I genuinely couldn’t fake.

There’s one feeling this poor blue-collar worker can’t shake;
Its that the bottom tier see sod-all profit in what we make.

Your gift hands us an empty feeling and a growling stomach ache
Plus your handful of cut-price excuses, but not an even break,
My bitterness over this pay round my Bitter cannot slake,
As Upstairs rowdily celebrate, Downstairs retains the air of a wake.

Oh, to work and work and get your just reward from the grateful employer. Don’t they just make it all worth while? (This is not so much a rant as rueful acceptance.)

Price Less.

Another profitable year over and a new one set to start,
I can modestly say to the Company I’ve done my modest part,
So I swanned off to my annual pay review, a song in my heart.
(I might do all the donkey work, but this dumb ass ain’t too smart.)

Surely this time I’d receive my due from this profitable enterprise?
And then I beheld the sorrowful look in the good Josephs sad eyes,
My disapointment at the Company’s paltry offering I couldn’t disguise,
Yet after my previous review it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise.

That pay review was ten minutes uncomfortably spent,
Now my jaunty song has turned into a painful lament,
I’ve given my all and they give me two lousy percent,
What I feel is, well, screwed, and without consent.