Category Archives: blasphemy

Premier League, football, Christmas gifts, and a prayer for whats important at this time. From a Crystal Palace fan’s perspective, at least.

Christmas Hangover.

What an inspiring result at Man City the Palace fans saw,
But we’re back to reality after Cardiff’s Nil-all draw,
Some say the Welsh were plucky,
Some say Palace were unlucky,
Cardiff came with a rear-guard ponderous, leaky and porous,
Hell, those Bluebirds would- should- be easy pickings for us.

But the Palace sharp-shooters hit both the bar and the post,
They tend to clobber the woodwork more often than most,
Gawd, they hit the bar, they miss the ricochet,
We wouldn’t really be celebrating Christs birthday;
Surely after the Man City Miracle, Lord it would please us
If someone nailed in a couple of crosses. (Apologies to Jesus.)

Advertisements

Christmas is coming- Jeez, already!- and all the sweet (and savvy) kids have sent their wants and needs to North Pole Enterprises. Lets see what apps- what ‘appens?

Off The Xmas List.

Would this long jolly December day never end?
All this kid craved was for the blessed night to fall,
I watched in impatience for the sun to descend-
How I’d like to get my hands on that clock on the wall.

Finally in the wee wee hours of Christmas eve
I hopefully strung up my XXL size Christmas stocking,
Murmuring ‘Santa please  don’t practice to deceive,’
After last year my once-solid faith in Him was rocking.

I lay abed replaying my plan of when Santa would descend;
No more milk and cookies left for when He deigned to call,
Now its eggnog, Christmas spirit, Bells 80 proof, special blend,
This kid is not above greasing the skids to get a decent haul.

Come Christmas morning and what did I receive?
From the mantle fluttered my stocking, empty, mocking,
It hurts to find your faith is based on make believe-
No more lists to Santa, that fat bastard I’m Facebook blocking.

I thought work couldn’t get any better, and though I rarely agree with the boss, this time I heartily do. Thanks Boss. Oh, and to Julia- thanks for nothing. (Part three of the Jilted Julia Saga.)

Exit Interview For Bossy Boots.

‘So, Julia you’ve been with us a year to the day,
Sadly the evidence says you’ve outstayed your stay,
So lets review your flaws before you go on your way
With our good wishes and an even greater redundancy pay’

‘Let us peruse the views of your ex-staff, if we may?
They can contain a clue- or two- to where you went astray,
One good point is they do say you’re real hard work and no play,
Negative traits… hmmm they do go on- and on and ON, don’t they?’

‘Complaints against you… hmm, laid in endless array,
Your words of complaint about them cause me a twinge of dismay…
No, don’t tell an employee to ‘fuck off,’ the Company prefer ‘go away,’
I agree with your staff, so no argument, Julia, just go away, without delay.
Or ‘fuck off’ as you say.’

Australian politics moves beyond a joke into the realms of farce. Australia fair to Aussie nightmare, overnight.

Pass The Chalice?

Of Malcolm Turnbull
They’d had a gutsful,
So Peter Dutton
Shoved his butt-in.

Then sweet Julie Bishop
Tried to wish up
Some more support
But came up short.

Late, late in the day
A joker came into play,
Dutton viewed with displeasure
Gods little treasure.

Grovelling promises made,
Old debts being repaid,
In this two horse race
Who’d wear the long face?

Thank God Barnaby Joyce
Was lost for choice.

So now who’ve they got?
Oh God, not-so-great Scott!

For Big Bad Pete
It’s ignominious defeat;
Don’t let the coup you mount
Leave you out for the count.

For Pete and his mate,
Time, again, to commiserate,
Back, back to the back benches
Shoveling shit deep in the trenches.

There slumps Pete Dutton
Career, hopes, dead as mutton,
Leaving frustrated Tony Abbot
Sadly saying ‘ah fuck it dagnabit.’

Now Mal’s bitten the dust
So in Scott we must trust,
Time to let our new PM speak;
He could be gone by next week.

Harley-Davidson just can’t win when going head-to-head with Hardly Rational.

Low Rumbling Grumbling Sounds.

For half a century those Harley guys have gamely tried
To hold back the unending Oriental copy-cat Cruiser tide,
Fakes of their venerable V-twin, a design so old and ossified
It deserves to be seen in ‘Antiques Roadshow’, or Formaldehyde.

Yet the President sees this decrepit anachronism as a thing of pride
So, the Harley Board is finding dealing with Don a wild, not easy ride,
No, Don don’t want their icon screwed together anywhere but Stateside
(Putting Putin’s plan for producing Harley-Davidsons in Petrograd aside.)

Six word book summaries. I keep stumbling over these, and love the idea of them. So here’s a few, old and new, hopefully presented with a touch of humor.

Alice Through The Looking Glass.
Alice falls down, goes to Crazytown.

Moby Dick
Footloose old salt trailing whale tale.

Wuthering Heights
Cathys unhappy home, Heathcliffes moody manor.

Fifty Shades Of Grey.
Modern bodice ripper, boy maltreats girl.

Silence Of The Lambs
Hannibal tells Clarice a gristly story.

Frankenstein.
Dead End Doc, rejuvenates. Shock, Horror!

The Bible
Big Fellas BIG seller. (Popular Fiction)

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon.
Lost girl nightmare. Tough to bear.

It’s Not About The Bike (Early Lance Armstrong ‘inspirational’ bio)
Drug pedaling Tour De France loser.

The Three Musketeers
Three musketeers, add D’Artagnan, go fourth.

The soccer/football World Cup, England, the semi-finals, and finally, a reason to believe?

Getting The Cross In.

It was months and months of Sundays back I began to doubt
The words Father McEvedy would by rote routinely spout,
But this July St George has never seen anyone so devout,
For it feels the world is about to end
When your World Cup hopes depend
On England miraculously winning a penalty shoot-out.

So many years as a lapsed Catholic and an avowed atheist,
The cold comfort of the confessional, all too easy to resist,
Yet I’m rattling the old rosary, praying, hoping for an assist,
Perhaps He might help out Southgates squad-
Argentina don’t need a helping hand from God,
Good Lord, what better reason to prove You exist?